


Silver and Gold

by HigheverRains



Series: HigheverRains Presents... [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Multi, Shameless Smut, Thedas' Most Bangable, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Theirin Princes always have my favor." </p><p>Eideann Cousland/Alistair Theirin/Cailan Theirin, small series with a bit of an AU twist! :) Enjoy!</p><p>(Although this story includes a younger version of Eideann Cousland, Flame of Highever, from my Dances in Darkness series, that was only for ease of character. This story universe should not be taken as canon for that series. <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silver and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHawkeRevolver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHawkeRevolver/gifts), [Kamille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamille/gifts), [MostHopelessofRomantics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Theirin Princes always have my favor."
> 
> Alistair Theirin learns just what he has been missing in the Chantry; Eideann Cousland follows her heart and makes her own decisions; Cailan Theirin decides its time to test the Highever waters before he weds Anora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Possible incest (Cailan and Alistair are half-brothers, but most of the focus here is actually on Cousland, not the two Theirins); sex (explicit)
> 
> This was requested by RedHawkeRevolver. Hope you enjoy! :D  
> Thank you to MostHopelessofRomantics for the beta!
> 
> Comments always welcome.

His fingers were numb from too many buckles. He could feel the weight of the sun blaring down, shining from the metal in the courtyard, and he felt too the heat that billowed beneath his Chantry soutane and scapular of thick purple and gold, emblazoned with the Andrastian sunburst. He wished to be inside the tents, out from under the blazing son, not there amidst the cast off armor, tending horses for knights competing in the Tourney held in honor of some highborn brat who got to sit in the shade.

Across the square, he could see them, cheering on the next jousters. They sweated away in silks and fine satins. It was an unusually hot Fereldan summer, even then. He grimaced and finally undid the buckle, feeling it slide loose in his hands. And then he reached to haul the saddle from the horse’s back and set it aside atop a wooden beam waiting before the pavilion tent. The horse gave a low whinny, fed up with the entire thing as much as he was, and he grimaced. 

Somewhere in this mess, the father who refused to acknowledge him sat with Arl Eamon who had sent him away, fawning over when Cailan would be coming out to joust. Somewhere in that mess, Loghain Mac Tir’s too pretty too cold daughter sat, waiting to wed his brother and make herself a Queen. Blegh. He sighed and turned away.

The Tourney had been better that morning, before the sun had emerged from the clouds. Now he was soaked in sweat, his soutane damply clinging to his skin, and he could feel beads of it on his temples. Maker, didn’t the Templars have their own squires? He supposed it was an honor, to serve as groomsman for the best knights in the order competing to win the honor of the title, but mostly he was fed up. This felt like a silly game. Who would want to put on all that metal anyway under this sun? And who would want to be battered off a horse with a stick? Give him a melee. That was better. And give him rain. Maker, please, rain. 

Wasn’t it meant to rain in Highever? He had always heard it was. 

He grumbled and glared instead out towards the Waking Sea a moment, off in the distance over the sharp cliffs. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could run to the beach and dip in the cool waters and wash away the toil. 

The jousters set up their line again, riding the length of the field. Loghain Mac Tir was wearing a cloak emblazoned with the golden dragon of his house. The other jouster he did not know, and honestly in the heat he did not care. He just wilted a little and sank back against the wooden beam into a slight seat a moment to breathe against the heat of his Chantry robes. 

And then something strange happened. The unknown rider came forward, new in the lists, and extended his lance into the audience for some lady’s favor. But there was a collective gasp as whatever lady it was decided he was not worth the bother and instead came storming down from the stands. He saw her coming, clad in deepest blue, eyes fierce and the color of rain, hair in honey waves loose down her back. And he saw too someone coming after her.

“I won’t give it to him! It’s _my_ favor to give to whom _I_ choose, and I refuse to give it to Vaughan Kendalls!” the woman was shouting in a Highever brogue, even as she came towards him, ribbon of soft blue flailing at her wrist. 

He got out of the way.

Or rather she made him get out of the way. She tore past him, nearly forcing him from his perch, and hitched up her skirts to run. Her skirts and hair streamed out behind her, and he stared a moment before realizing who it was coming after her. Teyrn Bryce Cousland, who was holding the whole darn Tourney. He grimaced, and Bryce Cousland did not even spare him a look as he sprinted past.

The knight in the lists looked confused and shattered. He had let his lance hang loosely in his arm, watching the woman he had hoped to court flee the entire Tournament. And he almost laughed to see it. 

Except that the woman had been Eideann Cousland, the daughter of a Teryn, and he had let her just run by, and he was sure he would get into trouble sooner or later.

He turned away instead, hurrying off through the tents in hopes to avoid any suspicious followers of his own. If the Templars knew he had let her run right by him without helping, making a fool out of the Lady, the Teyrn, and the Knight…Maker…he did not want to deal with the fallout from that.

He hurried through the tent lines, checking back every few moments to make sure he was not followed. In fact, he was so distracted, that he did not even notice, until it was nearly too late, as he walked right into Lady Eideann Cousland. She let out a small squeal, and he jumped too, but caught her arms, and she almost pushed him away before glaring at him. 

“Please,” she said suddenly. “Please, if they find me…” 

He did not have the heart to say no. He heard shouts coming down the row of tents and drew a breath, then gripped her wrist in his hand and abruptly turned to a new direction.

“Quickly,” he said. “Come with me.” So they ran. 

***

She did not know who this boy was, but he was a pretty fast runner. And in Chantry robes as well. He led her through the tents like he had helped set them up, and she realized that he probably had, to be working among them now when most of the Chantry members were seated under the awnings to watch the performance. 

She considered him as he pulled her along, jumping tent lines where necessary and holding her skirts out of the way as they fled. The sunlight on his hair made it shine like gold, and his eyes were the deepest amber she had ever seen. She caught her breath a little, smiling slightly. 

_The Maker sure makes his Chantry boys pretty these days._

If it had not been for the despicable Lord Vaughan taking insult at the fact she refused to let him court her – as if she would, the stories Habren Bryland told of the man! – she would be fine under that awning boring herself to tears even now. Instead, she was being gallantly swept away into hiding by the prettiest Chantry boy she’d seen ever, and all of it was quite exciting. It was almost as exciting as the time she had entered the melee and nearly beat all the swordsmen there herself before her father had noticed and dragged her from the round in a fury. 

The boy ran on and on, thought the tents, towards the deepest, largest pavilions. And there he paused a moment before taking an abrupt left, and dashing inside one, pulling her in after him, and grasping her tight in his arms. 

He waited a moment, holding her close in his arms, as the sounds of pursuit drew closer, and Eideann squeezed her eyes shut, listening and holding her breath. 

And then the sounds passed them by, disappearing into the rest of the camp, and she let out a heavy breath, daring to look up.

Maker, he was close.

She thought of the favor tied at her wrist, of all the people who had asked for it, and smiled slightly, an idea coming to her then. No one else could wear it if she chose her own champion.

He was gazing down at her, those amber eyes shining, and then she saw a faint blush grow on his cheek. She considered her predicament, there in the arms of the Chantry apparently, literally. And she gave a soft laugh. He went bright red, and looked away, but she shook her head and pulled it back and then planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Then she carefully unwound the blue ribbon from her wrist and tied it about his own.

“Thank you, stranger…for my daring rescue. I’m not usually the sort to be the damsel.” 

“Alistair?” The name was quiet, from within the tent, and both of them froze, then Alistair – the Chantry boy – shot clear of her, releasing her and taking a step back to stare about wildly.

“Cailan.” Eideann blinked, looking between them, then her eyes widened slightly.

“Maric’s son?” she asked, but she was looking at Alistair, not Cailan. Who else would look so similar? She had heard tales of the Redcliffe bastard, sent to the Templars to train, but she had never before laid eyes on him. But who else would call Cailan by his name so informally except his very own brother? 

Cailan was half dressed, chest bare and rising and falling as he glanced between them. And then he gave a very slight smile at her, like he was amused.

“Alistair, you’ve kidnapped Lady Cousland.” She opened her mouth to speak but Alistair shook his head vehemently.

“No, Cailan, it’s not – ” he stammered.

“Well, I mean…if you were going to aim high…” Cailan interrupted, grinning, and then he gave a regal sort of bow of head to Eideann. “Lady Eideann. A pleasure to meet you.” 

She suddenly realized they had sheltered in the Prince’s own tent then, and was mortified. She felt herself flush a little red and bowed her head.

“Prince Cailan,” she mumbled, sweeping a curtsy, but he shook his head and crossed to her, his hands coaxing her chin up to look him in the eye.

“Come now. I heard the Flame of Highever was a bit more spirited than that,” he teased softly, and then glanced to the tent flap where the sounds of their pursuers were returning. “Quickly,” he said, motioning for them to hurry behind the curtain where he was sleeping. During Tournaments, everyone including the hosting party slept in the pavilion tents. It made it quite the event. 

They made it just in time, Alistair gathering her skirts in behind him as the sound of the flap being thrown back could be heard.

“Cailan.” It was not her father she heard, but Teyrn Loghain’s voice. “The Lady Eideann has gone missing. You haven’t seen her have you?” Eideann imagined he was suspiciously staring about the tent as he spoke and shivered a little. Alistair, pressed closely against her, was a bundle of heat. She clung to him, feeling a little weak-kneed at the thought of the entire Tourney looking for her, and he stiffened but did not move.

He was standing so close she could catch his scent, and it sang in her blood. She swallowed, lips parting slightly, and closed her eyes, leaning a little closer in to breath in the scent that was all musk and sweetness and passion. 

She had not really known she could be so suddenly swept off her feet. She gently laid her head against his shoulder, hiding her face in his collarbone so she did not have to meet those amber eyes. Maker…like gold, that’s what they were. Pretty, but she did not dare look. He did not move, and she wondered if they had made him take vows. And she grinned a little to herself because she had even thought of it.

Maker, if her mother caught her…

She gently leaned in to plant a gentle kiss against the hot flesh of his neck, tasting the salt there from the heat, and let out a very quiet, very unsteady sort of breath. 

“If I find you know where she is – !” Loghain was saying darkly. Cailan was holding his ground though.

“I would let you know. She isn’t here. Do you really think I would hide Lady Cousland in my tent when I have Anora?” That seemed enough for Loghain, who finally swept out. 

Alistair glanced down at her, and she saw the deep desire in his gaze then. He carefully ran a hand into her hair, and then drew her into a very gentle, very quiet kiss. And then the tent curtain swept aside, and Cailan crossed his arms, smirking.

“So, this is eloping then, brother?” Alistair blinked, putting up his hands. 

“I didn’t – !” he said, trying to back away, but there was really nowhere to go. 

“I believe you. She’s quite capable of seducing you. Have you not heard anything about the Flame of Highever?” Cailan was the older, by a few years, and he carefully reached to touch her hair. Eideann blinked, glancing back, as he twined a lock about his finger, then smiled at her in a charming way. “Lady Eideann Cousland knows exactly what she wants, and always gets exactly what she wants. The question here is really just how much she wants…”

“I don’t think…” Alistair protested, but Cailan hushed him, coming round to wrap his arm about Alistair’s shoulder to consider Eideann between them. 

“You are Maric’s son, a Prince of Ferelden. If this Lady wants it…” Eideann felt a flush creep over her cheeks again, and she met Alistair’s eyes, and then she met Cailan’s. Maker…silver and gold. Two princes. She drew a shaking breath. “I know I do…”

“I imagine that Lady Anora – ” she began carefully, but Cailan just grinned and shook his head.

“Anora…? Why would we care about Anora?” 

“But…?” Eideann narrowed her eyes, confused. “My apologies, my Prince, but I thought you said…” Cailan released Alistair’s shoulders and came forward towards her again.

“I have to marry Anora eventually, but if she’s the only one I ever sleep with, I’ll have to hang myself,” he declared flatly. “There is no love lost between myself and Anora. We’re lucky we’re even friends. I only said that to keep Loghain off my back. I suffer from lust as much as you, my Lady.” Eideann watched him as he circled her, a little like a panther, and then he smiled. “In any case, Lady Cousland, you are the one who intruded upon me.”

Now he was the one who was so close she could smell it. And it was different. Less sweet, less musk, more power, more raw strength. She wet her lips. He bent his mouth down towards her ear, but his eyes never left his brother, who stood in chaste Chantry robes. 

“Alistair, have you ever done anything like this before?” She felt a tingle go through her spine. “He’s embarrassed. He does not know what to do. But look in his eyes. He wants to. You can see it. He just does not know what he wants.” Alistair stared at Cailan, and the Prince gave a soft chuckle, then gently nuzzled Eideann’s neck below her ear. “And what about what you want?”

Yes, what about what she wanted? She did not want Vaughan. She did not want to be sold away to some power-hungry Bann’s son. She did not want to sit and wile away her life on the stands of a Tournament. She wanted to compete. She wanted to fight. She wanted…she wanted….everything.

Maker help her, she wanted both.

Cailan knew it too. And he wanted her. The Prince of Ferelden wanted her. Her eyes flickered to the gold across the room, and she saw the desire there too, wide and uncertain even so. Both Princes.

She was no innocent flower. She had played around enough. She was not going to go willingly virginal to the bed of someone who married her for power after all. She wanted lust, desire…

And Cailan was offering it. He leaned down again, his breath ghosting over her ear as he tangled his hands into her hair.

“What do you say, Lady Eideann? Shall we show my brother how?” And a soft sigh escaped her as he gently pulled her into him, pressing their bodies together, all heat and need and firmness, and she closed her eyes the briefest moment.

“Yes,” she murmured, and Cailan smiled against her neck and the carefully turned her jaw towards his own.

“This, Alistair, is how you actually kiss a woman.” And he did. The sort of kiss that plunders one’s senses. She found herself breathless, aching, needing, and turned towards him, desperate and arching against his bare chest. He chuckled softly, hands tracing the contours of her back, and kissed her softly again. “My, my, aren’t you pliant. That is not usually your reputation, Lady Cousland.” And then he carefully pulled back, and reached instead for Alistair’s hand, winding the two together. “Come then, brother, I shall show you how.” Alistair looked very nervous, very uncertain, but Eideann’s fingers closed on his and she saw the desire still in his eyes. So she stepped forward, gently pulling him into a kiss. 

He tasted different. Instead of danger, he tasted of sweetness, of need and desire and belonging and want. And he was hungry for more of those feelings. She ran her fingers up into his hair and felt Cailan at her back, carefully unlacing the stays of her bodice, one by one loosening the tight fabric until at last it was free and his hands crept under the fabric into the folds of her gown. 

She gasped, quiet, and Alistair pulled back, but she gave him a smile, and then whispered a reassurance. So he kissed her again, deeper this time, arms wrapping tightly about her waist, until suddenly her gown was pushed from her shoulders, and she was bare. 

And she felt Cailan’s mouth at the back of her neck then as he gently combed his fingers through her hair. She arched a little, and Cailan gave a soft chuckle, breathy with need and want. She could feel him, hard against her backside, and panted softly at the thoughts that flooded through her mind.

But Alistair did not really know what he was meant to do next, and Cailan knew it too. He carefully reached around Eideann to undo the sash over Alistair’s Chantry robes, and then Eideann did the rest, digging through the folds until at last her hands found flesh. And Alistair broke away, gasping and bucking into her hand, and she gave a soft smile as he started, staring at her with wide eyes. 

“Eideann…” he breathed, and she smiled at the sound of her name on his lips, the angelic spirit and the demon of desire capturing them in their embrace.

Eideann thought of something then, something she wanted him to know, so she carefully kissed him one last time, and then broke free of Cailan and Alistair both to sink slowly to her knees between them. Cailan watched her, smirk on his face, and then stepped in closer, pulling Alistair’s forehead against his own, both of them panting softly. Alistair was red, embarrassed and confused, or perhaps flushed from desire. Eideann glanced between them, Alistair needing to be led, and Cailan all encouragement, and then gently moved to take Alistair first into her mouth. 

And the sound he made. She smiled about him, tasting him and feeling him tense against her touch. And then she gently kissed her way clear and did the same to Cailan, stroking Alistair with her hand a moment. Alistair was shaking a little, panting hard. She switched a few more times, listening to the differences between them. Cailan groaned shamelessly, all in control and capable. Alistair tried to hold it in, until he couldn’t. And then he was panting and moaning more than Cailan was, and Eideann realized Cailan was holding both their weight. 

She backed away then, towards Cailan’s bed, and the silver prince gave Alistair a nudge as Eideann beckoned for the gold prince to join her. He lay then beside her, gazing into her eyes, and Cailan knelt as well, divesting her of the last of her gown even as Eideann peeled off Alistair’s Chantry robes. And then only Cailan wore anything at all, a reversal of their previous predicament. He grinned and nudged her thigh up, kissing his way down her leg towards her center. She tangled her fingers into Alistair’s and kissed him deep and hard, moaning as Cailan’s mouth met her core, and set her soul aflame. 

Alistair watched her, awed and amazed, fingers skimming over soft skin, every so often kissing her carefully, until Cailan reached for his hand and pulled him down to join him. And then they were both there, and Maker, oh Maker…

She moaned, so loud she was afraid someone might hear, and Cailan gave a soft smirk at the idea. And Alistair gave a soft laugh too. And Maker, that was a beautiful noise.

“I…I want…” she gasped, and did not really know, could not think. So Cailan carefully pulled back and then guided Alistair there instead.

“I know what you want,” Cailan murmured to her from somewhere above, and then Alistair was there, golden eyes gazing down on her, and then he was inside her, and it felt like fire igniting. 

“Maker, Eideann…” he breathed, pressing their foreheads together a moment, struggling just to catch his breath. She arched into him, even as he moaned down at her, and then she rocked against him, desperate, and he knew what to do. 

She closed her eyes, tipping her head back, and lost all sense. The way he felt inside her…Maker. 

And then she felt them both shift, as they were pushed down over to their sides. She wrapped a leg up about Alistair, drawing him deeper inside her, and he settled into her arms, moaning and panting and pressing his face into her collarbone now, lightly cursing in a way she was certain Chantry boys just should not. And she felt Cailan behind her, waiting. 

A rush filled her, a deep impending sensation, and Cailan’s mouth was hot on her shoulder as he gently coaxed her back a little against him. Alistair tensed, shaking in her arms, and then gave a short cry, then another, as he came within her. She felt his warmth fill her. And then she felt him slip from her, and almost moaned a soft moan of longing, before she was once again being filled. This time from behind. 

Alistair was watching her, and Cailan was within her. Alistair held tight to one of her hands, stroking it gently between his fingers as she gazed into those molten gold eyes. But her other hand was held fast in Cailan’s and she urged him on with moans, pleading for him to go faster, do more. Alistair’s free hand crept down to the point between her legs where all passion exploded, and she arched back, heat flooding her, shaking and crying out. 

And then Cailan too came, flooding her with heat again, and arched down over her shoulder, burying his face in her back and muffling the cry that escaped him. She lay there, panting, Cailan behind her, Alistair before, and gave a soft laugh, squeezing both their hands gently.

“Maker’s blood,” Cailan muttered from her back, nuzzling her softly. “Flame of Highever…that’s a moniker they picked well, isn’t it?” She nudged him with her shoulder, and he propped himself on his elbow and glanced at Alistair, who was staring with sparkling eyes and a bit of mischief in his face. “She’s something isn’t she?” Cailan asked, and Alistair’s eyes tracked to him a moment, then back down to Eideann’s, before he leaned in to kiss her gently.

“You’re the most incredible woman I know,” he breathed, sincerity pouring from him in waves. Then he laid back, free arm under his head, and shook his head. “According to all the Sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now,” he said softly, grinning. Cailan gave a groan and nuzzled into Eideann’s shoulder, and Eideann just barked a laugh and sat up quietly.

“Is that really what they teach you? Poor boy,” she teased, gently untwining their fingers. 

“Yep,” Alistair said, watching her slowly rise and pull herself into her dress. “Lightning first, and then the end of civilization as we know it.” His eyes softened a little and he carefully unwound the favor she had tied to his wrist before, holding it out to her carefully. “Lady Eideann…thank you,” he said gently. “No one’s ever given me their favor before.” She took the ribbon with a smile, winding it back about her wrist. Alistair watched as Cailan pushed himself up then to help Eideann lace her dress again. And then Alistair realized he was wearing nothing himself and hurried into his clothes, a blush creeping across his face. “I had better…they’ll need me…” Eideann caught his hand, then pulled him into a gentle kiss.

“You’re welcome,” she told him softly. “And remember me, Prince Alistair? Next year. You shall always have my favor.” He grinned, bashful, then ducked out. Cailan watched him go, then wrapped his arms about Eideann’s midriff and nuzzled her shoulder one last time before turning her about to face him, his expression gentle.

“If anything happens,” he told her quietly, “because of this…come to me.” She met the silver eyes and then drew a breath, blinking a little and tinging a slight red. He pulled her chin up gently before placing a tender kiss on her swollen lips and smiling at her softly. “You’re an incredible woman, Lady Cousland. My brother had that part right. Thank you…for doing us _both_ a kindness.” She gave a slight curtsy, and a secretive smile, and he sighed as the trumpets sounded in the distance. “That will be the next bout,” he said despairingly. “I’m next.” He eyed up his armor on its rack, then gave her a quiet grin. “I don’t suppose,” he said, eyeing her up gently, “you would mind letting me wear your favor, my Lady.” She smiled, gently unknotting it. 

She carefully wound it about his wrist, tying it slowly. And then she met his eyes, her own sparkling.

“Theirin Princes always have my favor.”


	2. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair ponders life as a Grey Warden; Cailan finds himself face to face with an unexpected surprise; Alistair finds himself in an awkward situation.
> 
> (definitely canon-divergent now; also still not canon for Dances, even though Eideann is back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome! :D 
> 
> ~hope you like the timeline and AU here~

Standing in the ruins overlooking the war-ready valley, he felt a wash of sadness overcome him. His Grey Warden armor fit him better than Chantry robes ever could, and he loved this new life of his. He was glad of the chance to prove himself out from under the heavy arm of the Chantry. And yet it had not all been bad in the cloister. There were no darkspawn threats to contend with massing deep within the Korcari Wilds. There were no goblets of blood or horrible nightmares. And there had been some innocence, a semblance of a life.

He twisted his hand loosely around his wrist, lost in thought, and bowed his head a little. 

Grey Wardens were dead already, from the moment the crystal of the chalice touched their lips. In the Chantry life had been slow, but at least that was a life he had lived. And parts of it had been so very happy.

He thought of rainy eyes and smiled to himself before leaning against the shattered Tevinter wall and crossing his arms. 

Sometimes he dreamt of it. The touches, the sounds, the way she had tasted, his brother’s forehead to his own holding him up. He woke on those nights panting and painfully hard. Those nights he had to be quiet, in the Chantry and later at the Denerim Warden compound in the Royal Palace.

He had not thought about it in a long time. Not thought about her. But Cailan was there at Ostagar, heading his army, all shiny in gold-plated armor and bossing around lords and ladies. And for the first time in a long time, the memories had come flooding back.

About him a cold wind was blowing up from the south, and he could feel the presence of the horde down in the valley far in the distance. He was not eager to face them. Not really. But so far he had been kept from the fighting. Duncan knew about his lineage, but he imagined it was Cailan himself who had insisted he avoid any battle so far.

Really they had only met scout parties. The skirmishes had been no real threat, except to the few unfortunates who had been tainted by the darkspawn during those fights. The real battles were to come, when the horde reached them, but that would not be for a week yet, or perhaps more. Not if the stories the Grey Warden scouts were telling were true. And he had no reason to disbelieve them.

The King’s Army was slow to assemble. Troops from Denerim, and the King’s Army were there, as was Gwaren’s infantry. There was cavalry sent from the Hinterlands, but nothing like the full force Arl Eamon was capable of sending as his men were being kept in reserve. If the army failed at Ostagar, the Hinterlands would be hit next along with South Reach. Most of the Banns and Arls had sent a few here or there, but the majority of those gathered were flying Loghain’s colors, vassals to his Terynir, there at his behest. 

The other Terynir was Highever, which had been contacted. In fact, men would be arriving shortly to bolster their forces. That much was true, he knew, because he had seen the runners reporting in and overheard the news. Highever was far away in the north, weeks of riding from Ostagar. They would need time to assemble their men and come south. 

But they had answered the call. And now the Teyrnir’s forces rode southward with Teyrn Cousland himself. And probably Fergus Cousland, his firstborn. 

Alistair thought again of that day long ago on the fields of Highever, when Eideann had come streaming from the stands and ended up breathless and heated in his arms. And he smiled slightly.

There were horns in the distance, warhorns from the Coastlands. He recognized the sound from the Tourney, and looked up to see a string of cavalry riding down through the pass towards Ostagar. He scanned the bright silver and blue armor, the Cousland laurels and the raindrops of Highever on the bannermen’s banners streaming behind them. 

“Alistair.” He looked back to see Duncan waiting for him, one eyebrow raised, and then sighed, pushing off the ruined column and brushing the dirt from his pauldron. “Come on,” Duncan said, beckoning to him. “We must begin our preparations for the upcoming battle.”

“Will I get to fight this time?” Alistair asked him. “Please say I’ll get to do _something_.” Duncan just gave a sigh, fixing him with a quiet look.

“We shall see,” was all he would say. “Come, I need your help.” Alistair glanced once more towards the bridge, then turned away, hurrying down the steps after Duncan.

***

Cailan buried his head in his hands and set down the letter written in a flowery hand on the small table near the front of his tent. He had barely managed to calm Loghain down after some fool and delivered his personal mail to the King’s General instead. Maker, what a mess. He had needed troops. He needed more Grey Wardens. Did the man think he could battle a Blight alone? 

Oh, he had been furious to learn Cailan had been in contact with Empress Celene, and even more livid when he had read this most recent of letters. It was not the usual formal agreement between nations, her condolences or the promise of aid. It was far less informal, far more friendly. And Maker’s blood, Loghain had taken it exactly as anyone like Loghain would.

“What the hell are you doing fucking Orlesian whores when you’re married to my daughter!” he had roared. And what sort of response was there to that? He could have said a thousand different things. He could have told Loghain that his marriage was to Anora, not to Loghain, so he should leave it well enough alone. He could have explained that he needed those forces and the Grey Wardens, and that the time had come to consider that the alliance between Mac Tir and Theirin had resulted in nothing more than five years of a political peace while the country waited for an heir it might never get. He could have even tried to bully the man into submission by reminding him that _he_ was the King of Ferelden, not Loghain, and that meant his word was bloody law! 

But he had done none of those things. He had simply coolly informed Loghain that the matter was simply none of his concern and left it at that. As if that would have ever made the Teyrn calm down. 

At least he had tried.

Teryn Loghain had simply done what he had always done when it came to Cailan’s decisions: shouted himself almost hoarse, told him how he was too much like his father, called him an arrogant fool, and then stalked off to tend to some business or other as though it would make him calmer. And that left Cailan in his tent recalling every bloody instance over the last few months that Loghain had done something of this sort.

Worse. His daughter had a similar habit of chastising him like he was some sort of child when he was trying to do what was best for his country.

Eamon had been the one to gently put it to him, a year past now, and the result had been a rather frosty relationship between Cailan and his uncle since. But Cailan knew as well that Arl Eamon had a point. After all, Ferelden needed an heir, or the Theirin line would die with him.

Well…almost…

He sighed and shoved the paper away, burying his head in his hands. He just needed to think of something. Anything else than all this nonsense of ruling kingdoms, having children, and not insulting all his political allies. On top of all that a Blight…

He heard the horns sound in the distance, and for a moment he did not think anything of them. Until he placed the sound, northerners, and ran his hands back over his hair before abruptly rising from his small folding stool. He tore through his tent flaps with a purpose, a small smile on his lips.

Bryce…if anyone could talk some sense into Loghain…if anyone was a neutral party in all this…

He heard his guardsmen fall into step behind him, two of them in the silver and gold of the royal guard, and ignored them a moment as he made his way into the camp proper. Torches flickered in the corners, sending eerie shadows across the ancient Tevinter ruins, and a brisk wind pulled at his hair as he made his way with purpose towards the bridge over the valley. 

He saw the horses and the gleaming Cousland coat of arms, and a small smile came to his face as he thought of Bryce and of Fergus. Surely now things would be better. Bryce was a voice of reason. And Fergus…Fergus was always good for a drink and a laugh and easing the tension in an atmosphere. 

But as the cavalry stampeded across the bridge to round up in the square, he could not see Teyrn Bryce Cousland or his son. He watched the horses rage into the square and draw together in a tightly-assembled arc about the ruins. And then a solder trotted forward on a brown Fereldan Forder, armor glistening, and cloaked in a fur-lined cloak of deep blue velvet embroidered with the Cousland laurels. He looked up as she cast back her hood, eyes bright and the color of rain, alight with a fierce fire.

“King Cailan,” she said with a small smile, shifting on her horse a moment before swinging down to the earth before him. “Highever answers the call.” 

He just grinned, shaking his head, and then closed the distance between them, bending to kiss her cheek with a laugh. Eideann drew away first, giving a small bow of head and then motioning for someone to take her horse. The Commander of her guard called the other riders to attention behind her, and she let them go, riding off towards the camp. Eideann herself stayed as the groom collected her mount. Cailan just grinned.

“Lady Eideann,” he said, offering a gauntleted arm to her which she took with all the dignity of a nobleborn lady. “I cannot tell you how good it is to see you.”

***

He looked more regal now. She stood across from him at the small table in the front of the king’s tent, which was a giant thing a good twenty paces long that had a front section meant for meetings and a back section meant just for him. The last time she had been in a tent with Cailan Theirin…

She scrubbed at her hair a little. It was short now, catching in the sharp wind that came from the deep south through the Wilds. She had been forced to cut it short to keep up with her swordplay. The last thing she needed in war was to deal with her hair in her eyes.

She pulled her cloak closer about her, thick and warm and lined with bear fur about the collar for insulation. Underneath, her twin blades of fine castle steel were light and secure, and her knife was tucked into the back of her belt where she could get a grip on it with ease if she needed it. 

Cailan set a goblet of warm mulled wine before her, which she immediately took up and sipped for warmth. Maker, but the Korcari Wilds were cold. 

“I had hoped to speak to your father,” he told her, watching her drink. She simply lowered the goblet in a single hand and nodded. 

“He will be along in a few days. He was delayed waiting on a few more of our bannermen,” she told him, and he nodded with a smile.

“Good. I was hoping he could speak some sense into Loghain.” He sighed and then drank from his own goblet, shaking his head. “Maker only knows he won’t listen to me.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed a little and she crossed her free arm about herself. Cailan smiled slightly. “Regardless, it is still very good to see you, Lady Eideann. I had not expected you to come south. Honestly, I thought to see Fergus.”

“I won a bet,” she told him with a sparkle in her eye. He gave her a look like he was not sure if she was telling the truth or not, and she refused to let him know either way, so he just shook his head.

“Still fiery, I see.” She just raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. And then she sighed.

“So, what is the situation out there?” Time to at least begin the business of being at war, as nice as all the little pleasantries were. Cailan sobered, shaking his head.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure this is a Blight. The Grey Wardens believe it is, but there’s been no sign of the Archdemon. Just a lot of darkspawn.” He bent over a map pinned to the table with a few stones collected from the rubble outside, and glared at it, pointing to a few locations as he explained. “We’re set up here. The Grey Wardens receive daily reports from scouts further south regarding the movements of the horde, but from what they can tell it’s headed directly for us here at Ostagar. If we can break their line here…well, it will be done.” 

“So we break them here,” Eideann said simply, setting down her goblet on the table, half-full. “How long to prepare?”

“A few days.” Cailan’s silver gaze tracked to her. “I hope your father makes it here in time, or Teryn Loghain may stage a coup.” Eideann’s gaze narrowed.

“Why?” she asked him flatly. 

“Because I am planning to leave Anora, and I’ve asked the Orlesians for aid.” There was a quiet moment as she digested that information, knowing what it would have cost him to tell her. She was not even the Teyrn, not an Arlessa or even a Bann. She was just Lady Eideann Cousland. Her father held all the power. 

But then she nodded quietly, and met his gaze.

“Shall I watch him?” she asked softly. He blinked, a little startled, and then pushed himself up to standing to consider her.

“Spy? On Teyrn Loghain?” She gave him a pointed look. He sighed. “No, I don’t want it to come to that. He was my father’s best friend, and he is the Hero of River Dane. I do not think he would stoop as low as treachery.” He sighed. “Anyway, I already have someone watching him.” She smiled slightly.

“Who?” she asked, picking up her goblet. Cailan gave her a secretive smile.

“Someone with little else to do and a strong stake in getting the Orlesian Wardens across the border,” he said simply, then changed the subject. “You will be setting up your pavilions here in the King’s Camp, of course.” She blinked, giving a small shrug. 

“I had not really considered, your Majesty,” she said simply, and he nodded.

“Well then I insist. And tonight you shall dine with me and the Grey Wardens. You really should meet Duncan. He’s quite a fellow.” He grinned. She nodded, and then considered him.

“If it is not so bold of me to ask…” she said softly, “why exactly are you planning to set aside your Queen?” His smile slipped a little and he sighed, running a hand back into his hair and pursing his lips a moment in thought. Eideann watched him quietly, ready to retract her statement, and for a long time the silence stretched on until finally she decided he simply would not dignify such a question with any response at all. So she set down the goblet, and carefully adjusted her cloak. She was just about to beg his leave when he stepped out from behind the table and brought his hand to catch her fingers with his.

“I wish,” he said quietly, watching their fingers twine together, “that things had turned out differently, Lady Eideann.” His eyes shifted to hers, full of that old heat, and she drew a breath, feeling how it stoked the fire within her. “Five years it has been, and still I think on it, on you. You’ve made a name for yourself. They used to jest when they called you the Flame of Highever. Now I know there has never been a Fereldan woman as fierce and strong as you…not since we were barbarians and birthing the Maker’s own prophet to lead rebellions against dead empires.” He released her hand gently, then carefully leaned in, brushing her mouth with the gentlest of kisses as he had done five years hence when he had said his goodbyes. “I still burn for you,” he admitted in a low voice. “I am sorry things were not different.”

“I could not be the woman I am if I had been shackled to a golden throne,” she told him in a wry voice. “My reputation was earned in that freedom.” And then her smile faded and she gave him a sad look. “Are you really so unhappy with her?” He shook his head, glancing away.

“No. We are friends, she and I. But little else.” He looked to the map, and a sheaf of letters tucked underneath it, then wet his lips. “I have all a King deserves. Some rulers are never so lucky. But Ferelden…she deserves more.” He looked to her. “I will need an heir someday, but that is not something the Queen and I can do. So the time has come to consider the options.”

“You have an heir,” Eideann said quietly, and he smirked knowing she meant Alistair, but it was a little sad.

“So I do,” he told her. “I must tend to some things now, my Lady. I will let you rest from your journey, and hope to see you this evening.” Eideann nodded, giving a small soldier’s bow. 

“Until then,” she said softly. His eyes skimmed to her and he smiled warmly.

“It really is,” he told her softly, “very good to see you again.” And then Eideann backed away and turned towards the tent flaps. When she had convinced Bryce to send her south, this had not been the circumstance she was expecting. She had wanted glory, and a chance to prove herself, to prove Highever. 

Here she was thrown into a political muddle, while Cailan battled for Ferelden’s future and the Grey Wardens sought Archdemons in the deep south. And it was a bit colder than she had been expecting as well.

She left Cailan to his musings and plannings and set her sights on the far camp where the Highever banners were flowing. They all had plans to make.

***

Alistair sighed, dropping his gauntlets onto his small truckle bed inside the Grey Warden’s large tent and rolled his shoulders.

“Ready, lad?” came the gruff tones of the incredibly bearded Grigor, Duncan’s second in command. Grigor came all the way from the Anderfels, and had been a Warden longer than almost everyone else. He grinned around the small flap that separated the different parts of the tent for them all to have some privacy.

“Ready for what?” Alistair asked. “It’s only dinner.” 

“Not just any dinner,” Grigor grinned, tossing aside his own gauntlets and a gigantic silverite warhammer. “Dinner with the King himself.” Alistair almost groaned, until he caught himself and sighed instead.

“Kings eat like everyone else,” he said, and realized he sounded a little surly. “Just because he’s asked doesn’t mean I have to go.”

“Going to pretend you’re not even a little interested in that gorgeous lady knight that rode in here today?” Grigor mocked, polishing his breastplate with a filthy cloth, holding his beard out of the way to reach. Maker, and this was the man who wanted to dine with the King…

And then he realized what Grigor had said. The only people who had arrived that day were the soldiers from Highever. Had the Teyrn not come? What lady knight would be important enough to dine with the King and the Grey Wardens? 

He had a sinking suspicion. He glared at Grigor.

“What lady knight?” Grigor just looked up then with a wicked smile. Alistair’s eyes narrowed. Grigor simply gave him a smirk, then turned abruptly for the door, patting down his scraggly beard. Alistair dropped what he was doing, deciding he could go as he was, and hurried after him. “Constable! What lady knight?!” 

He did not need to wait long to find out. Grigor kept his silence right until the end. As they entered the pavilion tent where Cailan’s stewards had been preparing a simple meal for the event, Alistair felt incredibly nervous. 

At first he did not recognize her where she stood at the far end of the table, laughing softly with Cailan. Her hair was shorter, and she wore Highever plate instead of a gown. Of course she did. She was not going to walk into a war in a dress! 

He froze at the door and almost did not bow to his brother like the other Wardens. It took Grigor kicking his shin to get him to do so, and even then, he did not take his eyes from her. Maker…Eideann…

Her rainy gaze was dancing as they straightened, considering him, and she smiled slightly. And there was something else there, understanding maybe. And he felt like a complete idiot. His face went a bit red and he had to look away.

“Welcome, friends!” Cailan said, extending his arms. He held a goblet of wine in one, but the other was bare and empty and inviting. Duncan greeted him, stepping forward, and Cailan invited them all to sit, so they did, filing in about the table onto the folding stools set out for them. All twelve, and the King, and Cailan’s General Teryn Loghain. Alistair sat at the far end, awkward and shifting, trying desperately to look like he actually belonged in that room. He might have been wearing the armor same as the rest of the Grey Wardens, but he was hardly a true Warden like the others. Six months, that was all, and he had not even been a real Templar before it either. He did not deserve to be there. His own father had not even cared he was alive. Why should the Grey Wardens? Why should his brother? Why should the Lady Eideann Cousland? 

He ducked his head a little.

And then he felt a soft touch on his bare arm and saw gentle fingers on the skin near his wrist. He looked up, startled, and caught Eideann Cousland flashing him a secretive smile before crossing to take a seat further down the table beside Teryn Loghain. Alistair watched her a moment, until he could feel the heat on his cheeks, and then looked away, bashful, and cursed inwardly at himself. 

Dinner was as awkward as he thought it would be. Duncan tried to explain darkspawn to people who had no idea what darkspawn could even be like. Teyrn Loghain looked like someone had spit on his plate. And Eideann Cousland was always there, talking like she belonged at that table, like she was a warleader too, and like what had happened between them – Cailin, Eideann, and he – had not happened at all. 

Five years. Maker…

Her face was no longer a young woman’s. She had the planes and angles of a real woman now. And it made his blood burn to think on it. He wondered what else about her had matured, what else about her…

He caught himself blushing and set down his fork. And then he carefully excused himself before it was too much.

He fled the tent then, as quickly as he dared, ignoring the stares that followed him out, and then hurried away from the King’s Camp entirely, up onto the battlements of ancient Ostagar through the gutted remains of ancient fortresses. His feet led him, until finally he was standing at the edge of a tower, looking down over the valley, and realized the wind had made him cold, and he was not entirely sure how he was supposed to get back. 

He looked about, and then he sighed, and slowly sank into a seat, tucking on knee up towards his chest and setting his back to the wall. He pressed the heel of his other palm against his forehead.

“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself. “She’s a woman. And you’re a man. And you’re being a complete idiot about this.” 

Who would have thought it would turn his head so much to see her again. 

But she had been the first, the only…it made something inside him yearn. And he swallowed, hard, and sighed, glancing out to the Korcari Wilds, where the fires of torches burned in the valley below.

He was disturbed by the gentle sound of footsteps from leather boots, and he looked back sharply before realizing who had come upon him. Eideann Cousland was quiet. The first time they had properly met she had appeared from nowhere as well. But this time she was smiling at him, head slightly tilted.

“Dinner didn’t agree with you?” she said wryly, then looked up to the Wilds a moment before stepping a little closer to him and then lowering herself carefully down beside him. She considered the valley, then glanced to him, and smiled a little more. Maker, that smile…it could melt ice. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” he said sardonically, “the red in my cheeks is keeping me warm.” He looked away, unable to meet her eyes, and she shifted a little.

And then he felt the warmth of her cloak as it came about his shoulders, the bear fur at the collar tickling his neck a little, as she leaned close to share the heat.

“I think the blushing is cute,” she told him after a moment.

“Cute!?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, hearing that from a beautiful woman does make me feel much luckier; I’ll say that.” She gave a gentle laugh and then turned. He felt the heat of her breath, sweet and warm, on his cheek, and then she kissed it.

He glanced sidelong at her, and she smiled back.

“So…” he said after a moment. “I…I guess this is the part where we act all awkward? Won’t my brother be missing you? He’s the real prince after all.” Eideann just nuzzled his shoulder a little, then nudged him to get up.

“Come on. The others will be looking for you. And it’s getting cold,” she told him in a voice that brooked no argument. So he rose, and she looped her arm about his, which made him blush a little more. “Escort me,” she told him gently, and he could hardly say no. She smiled. “Tonight you are as much a Prince as he.”


	3. Kinda Like It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan considers his options as the battle draws near; Alistair reports on the situation in camp; Eideann arrives in the middle of a rainstorm; Cailan throws caution to the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex (threesome); Incest
> 
> Thanks to MostHopelessofRomantics for the beta on this chapter and helping to work out the plan for future chapters! :)
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The rain pitter-pattered onto the thick canvas of his tent, causing puddles to form outside among the cracked Tevinter flagstone. Within, a small candle was all he had to light the room, and it cast long shadows across the interior. A brazier of coals, now nearly embers, glowed at the center of the chamber in an effort to keep in some of the heat. But mostly he was wrapped in a thick red cloak clasped with the Theirin crest at his shoulder. 

He bent over the parchment sitting on the table. 

_Cailan,_

_The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course? The darkspawn have odd timing, don’t they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden._

_Celene_

He sighed, carefully folding the paper again, and pressed it down flat onto the wood of the table with his splayed fingers, glaring at it under his hand. He knew what that casually dismissive wording meant.

She was not sending troops. 

The candle flickered a little and he pushed himself up, tucking his thumb under the belt at his waist and staring at the page before him. Perhaps Loghain was right after all.

He had gone to Celene for aid, and in exchange for it had bartered his own life away. That informality was the product of months of discussions. He was there, about to ally himself with the Empress of Orlais, and for what? She would not even send his troops, even though Warden Commander Fontaine in Orlais had insisted they were in a Blight. He needed troops now. Not later. Celene’s forces would never reach them in time. Orlais would not answer their call.

He paused, taking a step back and glancing to the flickering flames of the candle on his desk. 

_Highever answers the call._ He sighed and felt the weight of those words settle over him.

For years he and Anora had tried to continue the Theirin line. But Ferelden had no heir for all their efforts, and Alistair had never been claimed by their father. He might be a Theirin, but he was not a legitimate claimant for the throne. Well…unless the worst could happen.

And they faced a darkspawn horde. If he was honest the worst could happen.

He pushed the paper back into his sheaf of letters and tied the leather cord that held it closed. And then he turned his back on the table with disgust. There were too many things to be concerned with.

In some ways he was glad. What sort of Fereldan would accept an alliance of marriage with Orlais after only a few decades of freedom from the yoke of the Empire? He had been desperate. And he realized he had also been foolish. 

He had acted because he needed troops, because he needed to replace Anora with someone of equal or higher birth to validate the replacement at all. Empress Celene brought the might of the Orlesian Army with her, and a true Grey Warden presence, but if she was not coming to his aid, then what good did those things do, sitting away in Orlais? And the answer was staring him flat in the face now, clear as day. He almost kicked himself for not recognizing it sooner. Who but a Teyrn’s daughter could replace a Teyrn’s daughter and keep the goodwill of the people?

But he had never thought of Eideann Cousland as a wife. A lover, certainly, and a formidable woman. But he had never thought of her clad in royal garments and crowned in silver or gold, because he had a Queen already, and because the Couslands were almost nobility unto themselves. She bucked convention as a matter of fact, while Anora had tried to embrace it. But more than that, it had always been set in stone he would wed Anora. And it had been that very fact that had shaped Eideann Cousland. She had said as much herself.

_I could not be the woman I am if I had been shackled to a golden throne._

And yet…there she was…

She was leading an army. She had brought him a massive force, almost all of northern Ferelden, while Celene had brought him nothing. And he felt the fires burning inside him to touch her, to taste her again. He thought of the way her body fit his.

Alistair…

He sighed and shook his head to himself. That boy, always where he did not expect. He could not deny the fact that part of him liked having a little brother, especially one that was not wearing crowns and dancing with nobles. Alistair was given less than no respect by most of the nobility – those aware of his birth at all that was – and had been forced to earn that respect. Alistair was, in many ways, a lot like their father had been. Cailan had been born with high expectations, but Alistair was free of those, and Cailan was a little envious of those chances to prove his own worth that Alistair seemed to always find.

And he was a little jealous too of the look in his little brother’s eyes when Eideann Cousland had kissed him in his tent at the Tourney. 

He smiled slightly. Eideann Cousland could handle them both. In fact, anything less seemed hardly worth the challenge. 

It did not matter how much Cailan burned for her. Alistair did as well, though his brother had none of the patience or experience needed to really deal with what that meant. It had embarrassed him enough to flee the tent at dinner the night before, and Eideann had gone after him, a gentle knowing look on her face, composed and capable and every inch a Fereldan Queen. 

Maker, he’d married the wrong Teyrn’s daughter. He sighed and held his hands over the brazier to warm them a little. And then the sound of tent flaps opening disturbed him.

“Cailan.” 

He looked back to Alistair who seemed as happy to be there as he always was. He had never expected formality from Alistair, though everyone else did. That being the case, he let the use of his name go, let the lack of a bow go, and simply met those amber eyes across the table. Neither his nor Alistair’s were Maric’s eyes. Theirins always seemed to get their mothers’s eyes. Cailan wondered briefly just whose eyes had been that brilliant amber before he turned back to the table.

“I was not sure if you would be coming by today. Isn’t the weather awful?” Alistair gave him a pointed look.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting weather reports as well as everything else.” Cailan smiled, recognizing the petulant tone. Alistair was as jealous of him as Cailan was of Alistair sometimes. So instead he leaned on the table.

“Well?” 

“He’s been meeting with some of the mages.” Cailan frowned, looking away. 

“That’s odd,” he murmured to himself, and Alistair just stood, waiting, arms crossed. “Loghain doesn’t like mages.” 

“Why am I watching him for you?” Alistair asked bluntly.

“Why?” Cailan asked, looking up. “Has Duncan told you he’s planning to send you scouting?” Alistair looked a bit put out at the low blow and Cailan felt a little guilty for it.

“No,” the Grey Warden said sullenly. Cailan smiled.

“Don’t worry,” he told him, pushing himself up to standing again. “I’m certain you’ll have your chance at killing some darkspawn soon.” Alistair was no pushover. He had almost won a tournament six months back himself before Duncan had recruited him as a Grey Warden from the Templars. The shield at his back bore the Warden’s griffon sigil, but it was held like a Templar’s, and everything about Alistair was ready for a fight when need be. One of the mages had gotten a bit out of line the other day, ranting and raving at some Chantry Cleric while most of the Templars were away. Alistair had stepped right in and given a shamefaced apology to the mage before snuffing out his magic and sending him on his way. And then he had left the confrontation at that, seeming deeply uncomfortable with having to be involved at all. Since then, the Chantry’s Revered Mother kept having him run errands as well. Cailan had thought about putting a stop to that, but what was the King supposed to care about a random Grey Warden? And anyway, it gave Alistair the opportunity to move about camp under an alibi. 

“Do you know which mage or what was said?” Cailan asked, and Alistair shook his head, pulling his sword from his belt and setting it on the table, then propping his shield against the table-leg beside them.

“I couldn’t hear,” he told him simply. “It was the bald one. Senior mage…red robes.” Of course Alistair would know the colors and titles of mages. Even so the fact he did have access to that knowledge surprised Cailan just a little. 

In his eyes, Alistair was still that meek little boy in Chantry soutane that had been so nervous to be kissing a girl five years ago.

Well…he was still a bit meek.

Alistair sighed, running a hand nervously over his hair, brushing it forward towards the peak at the front. 

“Won’t people think it strange I keep coming in here to talk to the King? Wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea or anything,” he muttered after a moment, like it had taken him quite some time to finally speak up. Cailan smiled a little, shaking his head.

“You’re the Warden-Commander’s favorite, and the newest Warden. Everyone knows that much. You’re simply delivering messages for me and keeping me in contact with Duncan.” Alistair did not look impressed at the role, instead giving a low sniff.

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Just exactly what I thought I’d be doing when I Joined.” He said that word – Joined – like it was more than just a simple recruitment. It was weighted, heavy. Cailan lingered on that thought a moment, then sighed.

“So,” he said, motioning for Alistair to come around the table towards the brazier where they could both keep warm. “Lady Eideann…” Alistair gave a groan, cheeks flushing a little red, and would not look at him. Cailan grinned. “I wasn’t expecting her at the head of Highever’s army, but I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.” He reached for the mulled wine keeping warm beside the brazier and poured himself some, watching Alistair through the corner of his eye. The wine went down easily, and the warmth chased through his chest and down into the pit of his stomach. He offered some to Alistair, who refused it with a shake of head. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to run off with her again.” Alistair still wouldn’t look at him, and he had gone even redder. And then Cailan realized why.

“Maker’s blood,” he exclaimed with a soft laugh. “You haven’t…she’s the only one, isn’t she? You’ve never done it since…?” Alistair’s confirmation was the way he ducked his head a little. Cailan laughed again, turning towards his brother. “You’re besotted,” he said, and Alistair gave him a cold glare.

“Leave it alone,” he said quietly, a request, not an order. Cailan had never seen Alistair angry, and doubted he possibly even could be angry at all, but he knew that even in anger Alistair would have trouble shouting or bossing anyone about. Anyone else would have taken the insistent teasing as an excuse to tell him to shut it. But Alistair simply had a look in his eye that was begging to be left alone in mortification. Cailan smirked and took another drink of the sweet wine. And then he decided to save his brother further embarrassment by making it a level playing field. He turned back to the table, leaning on it and considering the tent flaps.

“I’m a bit taken myself,” he admitted, quietly, warmly. Alistair looked up, startled. Cailan glanced to him with a raised eyebrow. “So…what should we do about that?” 

“Nothing!” Alistair protested. “We shouldn’t do anything! Maker’s breath!” He was trying to make himself small again. “You’re the King of Ferelden! You’re _married_.” Ah. That again. Chantry boys…so chaste. 

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Cailan muttered.

“How?!” Alistair insisted, his voice a low hiss. Cailan gave him a flat look and Alistair looked away, going red again. “Anyway, she’s a lady…”

“Indeed,” Cailan laughed, “and ladies can’t do things like seduce princes and defrock Chantry boys in tents, can they?” Alistair shrank smaller, like the entre conversation was just slowly wearing him away to nothing.

“She…deserves respect…” Cailan smiled, standing and nudging the Grey Warden lightly.

“And she has it. There is no one in the world I respect more than Eideann Cousland.” He met Alistair’s amber gaze. “And I suspect you respect her a great deal yourself.” He patted Alistair’s shoulder roughly and then downed the rest of his wine. “She chose you as her champion, little brother. And she came to find you last night too.” 

For a moment there was only the sound of raindrops on the tent canvas, and then Alistair sighed.

“I’m a Grey Warden. And I’m an ex-Templar. And I’m just some bastard son of a serving maid. I’m not anyone worthy of a Lady,” he said into the silence. Cailan considered him, and then shook his head.

“Don’t you think that’s up to her to decide?” Alistair looked to him, eyes dark with something he could not really put words to, and Cailan tried to process it.

But before he could speak again, the canvas tent flap jerked open and they both looked sharply back in time to catch Eideann stepping through, shaking rain from her cloak and pulling her hood from her blonde hair. She paused a moment when she saw them both, then gave a bow of head.

“Prince Alistair, King Cailan,” she said in greeting, until Cailan shook his head and motioned with one hand for her to stop.

“Really, Lady Eideann, I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?” he said, earning a small smile. Alistair just blushed a little again. Eideann sighed, glancing to the tent flap that had fallen closed behind her, and then back to the others.

She was mud-splattered, and her blades were in need of a clean. She had clearly just come in from a scouting venture, which made Cailan wonder if she was planning on leading all those herself as well, and lead his army to boot. She crossed to join them, skirting the table, and pulled her leather riding gloves from her hands to warm them before the brazier. The gloves she tucked into her belt at the small of her back, shaking her head.

“It’s a mess out there. The entire Wilds is flooded. We’d better not plan any massive excursions westward. It’s a deathtrap. I watched a man on horseback lose the mount to the mud today,” she said, all business. Cailan sighed, shaking his head.

“Maker’s breath, if we have any more poor luck, we may as well just give in.” He glanced to Alistair. “Do we have any recent updates on the horde?” The Grey Warden shook his head.

“It’s been quiet,” he replied softly. “Our scouts are struggling with the conditions like anyone else.” 

“Elven, that scout of yours, right?”

“And an Avvar,” Alistair confirmed. “They’ll be fine. But they can’t get word back until the rains let up a little.” He sighed. “At least this means the darkspawn can’t get by either. If we are lucky, the storm and the flooding with thin the horde as well.” But they all knew that was a thin hope.

“What of your father?” Cailan asked Eideann, who shook her head.

“He’ll be a little delayed reaching us if he is riding through this. Who knows what the weather is like in the north?” But she had a look of concern, like she had expected something by now. “Arl Howe’s men were delayed due to flooding at Harper’s Ford, so I expect that this will delay them more.” She sighed, then glanced to Alistair. “I was not expecting to find you here. I was under the impression the pair of you did not speak.”

“Alistair,” Cailan said simply, “has been keeping an eye on our mutual friend.” A flash of something dangerous went through Eideann’s rainy gaze and she nodded.

“And?” she asked, gazing at the brazier embers.

“Well,” Alistair said quietly, “it’s been difficult to work out what is actually important, since he is the General, but he did meet with some of the mages earlier this morning.” Eideann looked up sharply, eyes narrowed.

“He doesn’t like mages,” she said, echoing Cailan’s previous thoughts. Then her eyes narrowed and she looked away a moment, before reaching to shed her cloak and drape it over the side of the table away from the papers and charts. It was dripping rainwater, heavy from the damp. And then she set to work on her armor too. 

Alistair immediately looked away, mortified, and tried to turn to go, but Cailan caught his arm and shook his head, and then stepped up to help Eideann with the straps of her breastplate.

She was wearing scouting gear, not the full armor she had arrived in, only pieces. The mud was caked on in places, and she set it aside carefully, avoiding getting the rest of his tent mucky as she did so. Alistair, bright red, was watching them awkwardly. That needed to change. 

Cailan relieved Eideann of her steel and handed that to Alistair.

“Wipe that down.” Give the boy a task. Eideann just shook her head.

“I can – “

“No, I’ll do it,” Alistair said, cutting in, glad for some sort of distraction.

Eideann wore a jerkin of soft Highever Weave silk in a deep navy blue. Over the top, a leather bodice was laced tightly over the fabric. She had soft leather leggings underneath it all, and thick, well-made boots. Cailan met her gaze and she paused, raising an eyebrow, and then stepped back with a small smirk.

And then she bent to unlace the bodice and dropped that as well.

Alistair dropped the sword, flushing a little, and Eideann glanced to him, even as Cailan closed his eyes a moment. And then when he looked up, Eideann was bending to collect her bloodied sword. She paused before rising, beckoning to Alistair with a finger.

“Come now,” she murmured, catching his hand in her free one. “We’re far too intimately acquainted for such things anymore.” Cailan gave a soft chuckle, a little taken aback.

Brazen minx. She always was, wasn’t she, that Flame of Highever.

Maker, he had really married the wrong teryn’s daughter. The one he wanted…

Eideann caught his gaze, deep and dark from the smoldering brazier, and he felt his heart pounding. And then she gave him the slightest of smiles.

“This appears familiar,” she murmured, and he grinned before nudging Alistair towards the back of the tent. Eideann went with him, and Cailan bent to collect all of her clothes and push them where they would not be immediately noticeable to anyone looking to enter the tent. 

It was evening, no one would see, and the brazier lighting was too low to cast shadows. As long as they kept quiet…

He thought of the army massing on the hills a moment, of Uncle Eamon’s letter about an heir, and about Anora, and then he shook his head. 

_I need an heir,_ he thought. _I may as well get started now. And if that child ends up as Alistair’s no one would even know._ After all, Theirins always seemed to get their mothers’s eyes.

They did not even need to keep all that quiet. After all, the rain on the tent could still drown out the noise. He grinned and went to join them, carefully stripping off his own cloak and armor until he was down to just his tunic, trousers, and boots.

Eideann set her sword aside carefully, then gently took the other one from Alistair’s hands. She worked quietly to shed his armor, fingers nimble and practiced at it, and set the pieces aside with her swords one by one. Then she took both his hands and sank down onto the thick bear furs of Cailan’s bed. Alistair sank to a seat before her, and she smiled at him gently as Cailan drew the curtains closed. No one would disturb them now...except possibly Loghain.

Cailan stepped from his boots and then pulled his shirt over his head before straddling her on the bed, nuzzling the back of her neck. Alistair looked uncertain again, but the red in his cheeks was not all embarrassment now.

“I…I haven’t…” he said, and Eideann leaned forward to kiss him softly.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. Cailan smiled slightly at her gentle encouragement, and bent to run his hands over the planes of her back.

And Maker, she was all woman now, all perfect angles and full maturity, none of the softness of teenage years. All of the softness of womanhood, and he exhaled softly.

Eideann’s hands were guiding Alistair’s, inviting him to touch, to feel. Maker, that boy…the Chantry ruined men, Cailan swore. He shook his head against the back of Eideann’s neck, and she arched a little as Alistair’s hands traced the contours of her body. And then the boy drew up on his knees to kiss her, and at least that was something. He had been paying attention the last time. 

Eideann gave a soft laugh into the kiss and Cailan’s hands found the edge of her tunic, loose and ready. He slipped his fingers underneath, tracing gentle patterns on her skin, and she turned her head back to catch his mouth next before lifting her arms for him to pull it clear. It fell in a small pile at the foot of the bed as his hands came to her breasts, soft in the dim candlelight, smaller than Anora’s since Eideann was always more active. He held the weight of them, leaning into her neck and giving a soft breath, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes and giving a very gentle moan.

Alistair had finally worked out what he wanted to do next. His fingers found the lacing of her leather trousers and he carefully slipped the knots free. 

Cailan could feel his own hardness aching, and had to sit back to lose his own trousers, which gave Eideann the chance to strip down. And suddenly Alistair was there with two naked people looking completely abashed. Until Eideann rose up on her knees to untie the sash of his quilted silk tunic and peel it from his broad shoulders, leaning in to nip softly at his throat. Alistair groaned, the sound hushed by the rain on the canvas, and tipped his head back as she pushed his tunic from his arms and let it fall to the floor. And then she kissed a trail down his chest, which was rising and falling with desire and want. And she gently loosened the laces of his own trousers before kissing at the hem there. 

Cailan gave a low groan himself at the look on Alistair’s face as she took him into her mouth, just like she had done all those years ago. And then he slid his fingers up her back again and bent to kiss her spine, bending over her.

His fingers found the core of her, the wetness that parted for him warm and inviting, and drew a sharp breath.

Even when she was feeling attractive, he never got such a response from Anora. There just was not any passion between them, even at the best of times. But this…

_It’s like liquid fire itself,_ he mused with a smirk and then kissed at her spine again before gently teasing one finger inside. She had to pull back from Alistair at that, arching her back and giving a soft gasp. Alistair’s eyes flickered to Cailan’s, who simply smiled and repeated the motion, watching Alistair’s response this time instead of Eideann’s. And Alistair, who was watching Eideann, had the hooded look of someone who desperately wanted to be inside her.

Cailan held back, swallowing hard, and then moved to nudge Alistair to the bed, pushing him gently down. Eideann read what he was doing and crawled on top of him, her eyes meeting Alistair’s in the darkness. The rain that fell was a tempo, a beat they had to match. Eideann shifted, rising up on her knees enough to take Alistair in her hand, and then set him against her and gently sink down again, breath catching. And Alistair gave a low hiss, tipping his head back, panting. Eideann moved to lace their fingers together, rocking her hips a little, and Cailan groaned too. 

Maker, she was gorgeous. Cailan knelt behind her then, running his hands over her thighs a moment, and sank his teeth into her shoulder a little, panting. Maker, he was so hard it was sore. He could feel his blood throbbing. Eideann arched back a little, and then she leaned forward. And Cailan watched as she was filled over and over. And he needed to be part of that too.

“I want both,” he heard, like it was a dream. And then he focused on it as Eideann, breathless and gasping, said it again. “I want both.” Cailan glanced to Alistair, who was in a haze like he had not heard.

“This may feel strange,” he said quietly, and Alistair gave a nod through his moans, fingers tighter on Eideann’s hands. Cailan moved then, into position, and Alistair’s eyes went wide a moment as Cailan carefully, slowly, pushed in alongside him. And Eideann cried out, a sound that Alistair had the wherewithal to muffle with a kiss as he too was in danger of alerting the guards. 

It was a strange sensation to be inside her and alongside him, but it didn’t matter. Cailan stroked a hand along Eideann’s back, tangling into her short hair, and then he began to move, only him, for all three of them.

“Maker…” he gasped, arms closing tight on Eideann, who reached back to hold him close against her, fingernails biting into the flesh of his thigh. Cailan gave a soft, breathless laugh, and then reached for Alistair’s hand, clasping it tightly.

“Tell me if we should stop,” he said breathlessly, but Alistair just shook his head roughly, eyes shut tight, and they settled into a rhythm just for the three of them. 

“Please,” Eideann murmured, head on Alistair’s chest. “Please, Maker, more…”

Cailan’s hand pressed her down, against Alistair, who was still holding Cailan’s hand with one of his. The other arm was now wrapped about Eideann, tangled in her hair, and he bent down.

Cailan felt Alistair’s climax throbbing up the entire length of him, and it was enough to set him to moaning too, panting and jerking a little over them as he fought against the power of it. And then they were both of them coming together inside her, and Eideann moaned, burying her face into his brother, fingers splayed across his bare chest.

“Maker…” Alistair panted when his voice was back, even as Cailan pulled back and collapsed beside him on the covers, fingers tangling into Eideann’s. He gave a long, slow exhale, trying to calm his pounding heart, and then grinned.

“As good as I remembered,” he murmured. Eideann nuzzled Alistair a little and turned her eyes on him.

“Yes,” she whispered, and Alistair’s eyes opened slightly.

“How do I keep ending up involved in this…?” he groaned, breaking contact with Cailan and running his hand into his own hair instead, and letting Eideann slide into the space between them. She did, snuggling into the crook of Cailan’s arm instead, fitting herself against him as he turned to bury his face in her hair with a soft sigh.

“Lady Eideann…” he breathed. “You’re something else.” She gave a soft smile, which he felt rather than saw, and her fingers caught Alistair’s hand again as he too turned towards her.

“You’re lucky my father isn’t here…” she murmured in a sly voice.

“Minx,” Alistair muttered, but he did lean in to kiss her forehead gently. Cailan shook his head.

Well, the boy was learning, at least there was that.

“Are you expected back at the Grey Warden’s tent?” 

“No…but they’ll know I was missing,” Alistair murmured with a sad little sigh.

“Don’t go. I sent you on errands. Done,” Cailan grinned, and Alistair’s eyes opened, catching Cailan’s over Eideann’s head.

“And when an advisor comes in tomorrow morning and finds us all three in the King’s bed?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll deal with them,” Eideann said simply, sleepily, and then pulled Alistair down towards her. “You stay.” Cailan gave Alistair a pointed look.

“The Lady has commanded it, so it must be so,” he said, like that explained everything. He would worry about Loghain and the others tomorrow. For now he just shifted, pulling the blankets and furs over them all in the darkness, and snuggled into her back a little more. “Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll see to the explanations in the morning.”

“Mmm,” she replied, and Alistair just gave a sigh and turned onto his back, bundling himself in the covers too.

“This is not how I thought this would be…” he murmured, more to the ceiling, barely audible above the rain.

“No,” Cailan agreed. He felt Eideann’s body ease against him and realized she was slipping into sleep. “Does it bother you?” Alistair was silent a moment, and then made his reply into the darkness.

“No,” he said in a very gentle, slightly amused voice. “I think I kind of like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has definitely gone off the rails with canon now and will continue to do so...so enjoy the new story. It will also be longer than originally planned...XD


	4. Out of the Mists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Eideann have a quiet moment; Alistair has to deal with Grigor's teasing; Eideann considers her relationship with the Theirins; Eideann, Cailan, and Loghain work out a tactical plan; Eideann hears word from Highever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Incest (mentioned)
> 
> Comments always welcome
> 
> Thanks again to MostHopelessofRomantics for beta'ing. <3

Alistair stirred slowly. The rain had not ceased, but it was now a quiet drizzle on the canvas of the tent, and the air was cold because the heat from the brazier had gone out when the embers died. But the bed was warm…

And it was not his cot…

And it was warm because there was a woman’s naked thigh wrapped about his hips, and soft hair spilling onto his shoulder.

He caught his breath. He could feel her breathing on his flesh, tickling. And it was…nice…so he held his own breath a moment longer just to feel it without disturbing it. 

He could hear Cailan breathing there too, and narrowed his gaze a little. Awkward. Very awkward.

And yet, not so much. He and Cailan had had very little interaction at all until very recently. Aside from occasionally seeing one another in Denerim in passing, their only real interactions had been at Redcliffe as boys when Cailan was more interested in swords, and at the Tourney where Eideann had come running to him those years ago. 

And now he was a Grey Warden. And this was his life. And with the Blight, which he could feel sickly in the distance even now, he had ended up thrown together with this half-brother over and over, until suddenly he was running errands and it would only take a single fool to see they had the same nose, the same jaw, the same walk. Maker, they had the same walk. 

He twisted slightly, giving a sigh and then gently pulling his arm from beneath Eideann Cousland’s head. What was he doing there? She was a Lady, as highborn as they came! And he…

 _You are still Maric’s son._ The thought came unbidden from some place deep inside him, and he swallowed.

He did not want that life. He did not want to be a Prince, no matter what Eideann called him. He wanted…

Maker, what did he want? 

Her. Only her. And a chance to make a name of himself without it being tarnished by unwed blood. 

He carefully peeled himself away from the lady in his arms and then rose, gathering up his things and mussing his unkempt hair as he moved about the back of the tent. He dressed as quietly as he was able, then stepped out into the tent proper to find his sword and shield, somewhere near the table. As he was buckling the sword to his belt, he heard soft footsteps on the carpets behind him, and glanced back to see Eideann herself had risen and was watching him with those quiet eyes the color of the rain that was falling down on the tent outside. 

She had wrapped herself in one of Cailan’s blankets, holding it loosely about her shoulders with a single hand. The rise of her breasts was barely visible over it, and Alistair forced himself to look away, to glance up to her eyes instead. She noticed his gaze and smiled ever so slightly, and then she stepped forward, bending to pick up the Grey Warden shield he had left against the table leg. 

“My Prince,” she murmured softly, holding it out to him.

“Just Alistair,” he replied, taking the shield and meeting her eyes. There were so many words he wanted to say that could not find a voice. Instead he swallowed, opening his mouth like he might speak, and then failing. Something of that kindness flickered in her eyes and she reached her free arm up to gently touch the side of his face before drawing a little closer, rising to her tiptoes and kissing him softly, sweetly. 

Maker, all that goodness in her was there.

“I don’t deserve what you’ve give me, Lady Eideann,” he said quietly, and she shook her head with another of those quiet, knowing smiles. 

“When first you saw me, I thought it was clear, I do not give my favors to the unworthy. That is still true,” she breathed, barely above a whisper so no one could overhear. Those words were just for him. “And Just Alistair, it is Just Eideann.” He caught her hand as it slipped away, though what possessed him to do it he could not say. And then he gently bent to kiss it, a formal kiss, the kiss of lords and ladies. 

“Eideann. I…” There was a noise from the back of the tent as Cailan gave a soft snore and turned over in his bed. Both of them looked back, and Alistair felt a blush stain his cheeks again as he released her hand. “I should go.”

“Don’t stay away too long,” she told him quietly as he turned to the door. “I would miss you.” His heart skipped a beat at that and he stared a moment at her, but she simply gave a small curtsy in her blanket and then held up a hand in farewell. There was no better way to leave it, so he slipped out.

Maker, she was too sweet. 

He made his way carefully through the misting rain, scowling up at the sky a moment, and then tried his best to discreetly enter the Grey Warden tent. Half of the other Wardens were still asleep. Those scouting still had not returned. And Duncan was out and about somewhere. 

But he was not as lucky as to go unnoticed.

“So.” He jerked about, startled, to see Grigor sitting on a small stool in the corner, polishing his axeblade. “Who have _you_ been tumbling?” 

Maker, he was _not_ going to answer that! Ever! What would he even say? _Oh, just Lady Eideann Cousland. Oh, and my brother._ He recoiled a little at that and simply shook his head.

“No one,” he said, too hurriedly, and stormed past, but Grigor set aside his axe to follow, wiping his hands on the cloth he had been using to polish the silverite.

“Sure,” the bearded man laughed. “And I’m a dragon’s uncle.” 

“You might be. I would believe it,” Alistair replied curtly, because that would be more reasonable than _I spent the night with my brother and his mistress._

Was that what Eideann was? The King’s Mistress? Maker, he did not like the sound of that. She deserved better than that. She…

She was _not_ Cailan’s mistress. She was the Flame of Highever. She had brought Cailan a whole bloody army. And she had been scouting in those rains yesterday. She was no mere mistress, like some harlot that had caught the King’s attention. Eideann deserved better than that. 

He sighed, and Grigor grinned.

“That lovestruck, eh?” he chuckled as Alistair gathered his cloak from his cot and wrapped it over his armor. At least he’d be less damp with that on. 

“I don’t love her,” he murmured before he could think. “I just…” He froze. “No. Nevermind.” 

“You don’t look like the sort of lad that’s come back from a whore’s arms, son. You look like the sort of man who’s spent a night making love to his wife and never wanted to leave.” Alistair was startled at that.

“No! What are you talking about?” 

“Women, boy. Unless you’ve actually been with one of those boys, that is…then…well…” 

“If you weren’t the Constable of the Grey,” Alistair grumbled, adjusting his sword in his belt and then trying to sidestep Grigor. The man just put out an arm to catch him, forcing Alistair to meet his eyes.

“Love her well, boy, while you can. You may not get another chance.” Alistair stared a moment, and Grigor released his arm, sighing. “We’re in for one helluva fight. Word came this morning. Duncan’s gone to see to the front line himself. Get ready boy…soon enough...” 

“The Archdemon?” Grigor’s mouth twisted into a sneer of distaste. 

“Flying beastie will meet us here, you mark my words…” 

And then he let him go, turning away back to his axe. Alistair drew a breath, then hurried towards the tent flap. He needed to speak with Duncan.

***

Eideann reached down to lace the bodice tight about her waist again, and then rolled her shoulders as she looked about for the rest of her things. She caught sight of her boots across the tent, barely out of sight, and went to collect them with a sigh. Best to be done and gone before anyone came to find Cailan. 

She was not entirely sure what she was doing. She had not meant for this to happen again, and yet…She did not regret it now that it had. In fact, it had felt…normal. That concerned her slightly, but at the same time it made her smirk a little.

 _Only you would think of this as normal,_ she thought as she stomped into her boot and then turned to the other one. 

She had left Cailan abed, since she was not sure what to say to him. He was the King, and married, and even if he said he was planning to leave Anora, something about it still sat darkly over her. He was another woman’s husband, and she was still a lady.

She had never been the sort to submit to the whims of men seeking to wed her for her title. She was Teyrn Cousland’s only daughter, and the only Teyrn’s daughter available for marriage in Ferelden. That sort of situation invited trouble no matter what. Most of her suitors were not enamored with her. They thought her a bit uncouth, wild and fierce, and that was a reputation she cultivated. She did not want to be some trophy wife to a lesser noble who wanted to feel like he was important. She did not want to be a wife at all, and she did not trust the intention of those who tried to woo her.

And here she was, bedding two Princes, even if one was bastard-born, for no reason save she desired to do so. That was as good a reason as any. Surely that was a better reason than the political match she was expected to make. 

All the same, however. She did not want it to harm her father’s reputation if word got out she was the King’s own Mistress. She made a face at the thought and reached to strap on her light breastplate. No, she did not like that thought at all.

 _What do you care what people might say?_ she thought, and then immediately corrected. _Because what people might say can hurt so many more people than I._ She thought of Oren having to grow up knowing his aunt was some sort of court harlot, and grimaced. She needed to decide exactly how far this was going to go, and she needed to make that decision before this happened again.

 _Maker, you’re already thinking about it happening again!_ Well, she was perhaps just as lucky that the Maker no longer watched the world. What would he think of her? She smiled slightly and fastened on her gauntlet with practiced hands. She could still taste Alistair on her tongue. She could still smell Cailan and Alistair both on her skin. 

Cailan’s motivations were simple. He desired her. And he was fine acting on that. He had made it clear to her that he would look after her should something happen. After all, an heir was what he wanted, was it not? It did not matter that he had Alistair as a fallback, he wanted his own son. She mused over that as she collected the last of her gear and fastened her cloak about her shoulders, pushing her hair back behind her ears. It was too short for much else. 

Alistair’s desires were simple too in a way, but different from his half-brother’s. Cailan wanted her, and he admired her. When he looked at her, his eyes burned with longing, and he respected what she was capable of. He knew the name they called her, the Flame of Highever, and liked it. He actually liked that she was not some court-trained quiet mouse waiting to be wedded and bedded. And she liked that he liked it. 

Alistair saw in her something entirely different. His eyes were filled with longing too, but it was a deeper sort, a different sort. Cailan saw her as a wildfire, raging and out of control, and he was drawn to it. Alistair saw her as smoldering embers, the heat and warmth he craved. She had seen it in his eyes that morning. He loved her a little. Maybe he did not even know it yet. And that knowledge touched her deep inside too. 

This felt normal to her because she could understand them both, and her place in the middle. This felt normal because with them both, she could be herself. 

She sheathed her second sword and then turned towards the door with a final glance back at the back of the tent, where Cailan still slept. And then she sighed and smiled.

And that was when the tent flap opened. 

Teyrn Loghain drew up short, staring at her. For a moment she just met his eyes, forcing the surprise down and determined to show him a face that said “I am exactly where I am supposed to be.” His lips parted slightly and then he finally remembered that this was a Teyrn’s daughter, and a noble lady. He gave the slightest of bows of head, and she returned the favor.

“Teyrn Loghain,” she murmured in greeting, banking her fires into a cool voice. He glared back.

“Eideann.” No title. As if they were familiar. She lifted her chin a little, eyes flashing, and met his steely gaze with her own, the rain pattering softly on the tent about them. “I was under the impression you had your own tent.”

“Am I confined to it?” she said coldly. He drew back a little, surprised at the bite in her words. It was after all a perfectly reasonable question. He suspected exactly what she was doing there, but she was there armed and armored and she could have been about anything. She could have simply beaten him there that morning, for all he knew.

“I did not see you enter earlier. My apologies,” Loghain muttered, but did not sound very sorry. He glanced to the back of the tent.

“He has not yet stirred,” Eideann said simply. “I’ve been waiting to make my report from the scouting yesterday evening.” There the story was set. 

Loghain made a sharp glare, then sighed and stormed back towards the back of the tent like his presence alone would wake the King. He did not make it that far.

Cailan emerged, clad in a woolen robe of scarlet belted at his waist, looking like he was in the middle of morning preparations.

“Anyone would think,” he muttered darkly, “that my tent was free for all comers.” Eideann raised an eyebrow, then gave a soldier’s bow, low for him.

“Your Majesty, I wanted to report in about our scouting efforts from last night.” Cailan considered her a moment, then sighed.

“Flooding, I presume?” he muttered. And she gritted her teeth as if she were bothered, but this act was important. If Cailan was worried about Loghain, he should not know that Cailan could be held to account for Eideann or Alistair. Especially not if Cailan was his son-in-law. 

Loghain was watching her, so she shifted her weight.

“We swept the western ridge, and found a few bands, which were dispatched, but most of the Wilds are indeed flooded, and I worry we won’t hear from Highever for a few more days yet. The path northward is cut off, which means our stand will be here or nowhere. At least the floods will hold back the horde if this offensive does not work.” Loghain heaved a sigh.

“Listen to reason, Cailan,” he said simply, ignoring Eideann now. “This offensive is a fool’s errand. I’ve done my best with what we have, but I don’t know what else we can do. And worse. This morning, when clearing the ruins, some of my men found collapsed passages on the eastern side of the valley. They may go very deep. If the darkspawn are beneath…”

“They are not beneath. The Wardens would know,” Cailan said simply. “We will stop the Blight here, Loghain. I will not let it reach the Hinterlands or South Reach. I have an obligation to make this stand before the darkspawn reach real villages and towns.” They had probably reached some already.

Eideann grimaced.

“Then I suggest a contingent of cavalry sweep the valley once the darkspawn reach our line,” she said.

“We can establish a signal,” Teyrn Loghain said flatly. “When the beacon is lit, the bulk of our forces can charge and flank the darkspawn, trap them in the valley. If our first stand can hold, we can crush them against the walls.” 

“Exactly,” Eideann nodded, but her eyes tracked to Loghain, and she was listening for other things than tactical advice. After all, a flanking maneuver was hardly a brilliant strategic move. It was a basic one, one every military commander knew. She was more interested in what he had said about the eastern ruins and these tunnels. She determined she would be going to check those out herself.

“I volunteer my men to stand in the forests then, as they are the greatest in number,” Loghain said flatly.

“And the worst prepared. Split them,” Eideann insisted. “They are tired from camping here, and they are nervous. If we mix Highever men in their mix, we get a fresher force throughout.” That was true. Highever forces had yet to see battle, excepting a handful of scouts. And the Coastlands were almost as good as Ash Warriors for hounds. “We can make a mabari line across the valley,” Eideann continued, pointing to the map as Cailan joined them about the table. “And put Arl Eamon’s cavalry here.” She pointed up further into the valley where they could ride the darkspawn down. “If we position our armies in the forests, we need to make sure we are holding the line, or else the entire trap falls apart. Any darkspawn that break that line…” Her eyes flickered to Loghain who looked severe.

“Well, then in the valley is where I shall be,” Cailan said deliberately.

“Wait…what?” Eideann looked up and Loghain’s eyes narrowed as he too turned his head sharply to face the King. 

“This is madness! Your obsession with glory and legend is going to get us all killed,” he spat. Eideann actually agreed.

“You are _not_ fighting down there,” Eideann said flatly.

“That is where the Grey Wardens will make their stand, and I will not let them stand alone,” Cailan said simply. “Enough of our men have seen darkspawn now. They’ve watched friends sicken and die. I don’t want to stand down in that valley. But I am the symbol that is holding this army together, Lady Eideann, and I will make my stand there. If these men are going to die, they will see their King fight beside them. It takes courage to battle evil.” He sighed, glancing to the map. “Give me a signal. Who will light it?” 

“We are considering some of the towers now,” Loghain said simply. “I will tell you once we find a suitable one. It must be visible to everyone, easily accessed. We will need to make sure it won’t be missed and can be defended.” Eideann nodded her agreement. 

“Once a suitable beacon is found, we can come up with a more elaborate plan,” she said. “Until then, I must go and see to my people. I want to run a few more scouting parties.” No one could scout on wet terrain quite as well as a Coastlander. “I have a couple Waking Sea longbowmen that could probably stand some practice before we set them loose to hold the line against the horde.” She swept a bow, cloak billowing as she did so. “Your Majesty, Your Lordship.” Loghain and Cailan followed her to the tent flap however, still arguing.

“I still think you should reconsider – ”

“This can wait, Loghain. We have other matters to attend – ”

They both fell silent, however, Loghain holding back the tent flap, as a rider came thundering into the square. On the saddle cloth was the emblem of Highever, the green teardrop and the crossed spears. Eideann stopped short.

“Ser Gilmore!” she hurried out into the rain, and Cailan and Loghain stepped forward as well, Loghain’s eyes narrowed, Cailan hardly dressed but regal all the same. 

Ser Gilmore was hunched over, teeth gritted in pain, and as Eideann reached him he slipped from the saddle, stumbling into her arms. She caught him, supporting his weight, and caught the scent of blood on him. He looked to her.

“My Lady,” he gasped, one arm clasped tightly across his Highever blue tabard embroidered with the Cousland crest. “My Lady…” 

“Ser Gilmore! Hold on!” Eideann looked up, desperately, and called out an order, sharp and clear. “Get me a mage! Now!” And Cailan’s guard went running, even though Cailan himself had not given the order, because Eideann’s voice had been the sort to brook no argument. Eideann staggered back towards a stone near the center of the king’s camp, settling the knight on it, and knelt before him. “Tell me,” she said fiercely. He glanced at her.

“My Lady…I’m sorry. We had no warning. How could we?” 

“What has happened?!” Eideann demanded. He met her gaze, his eyes glassy with pain, and she pressed his arm tighter to his injured torso, holding him steady, as he gasped.

“Arl Howe…his troops attacked in the night. We didn’t have the forces to hold the castle…Highever is taken,” he said, tears in his eyes, squinting back against the pain. Eideann froze. For a moment she could not breathe, could not think. And then she gritted her teeth.

“And my father?” she asked. “Where is the Teyrn?!” Ser Gilmore let a tear slip and drew an angry, hurt breath.

“The Teyrn is dead, my Lady, as is Teyrna Eleanor. They are all dead.” The weight of that hit her like a wave against the Coastland shore, threatening to drag her down below the waters to drown. Her lungs ached as if she actually were drowning as she forgot to breathe entirely. For a moment the whole world stood still. And then Ser Gilmore bowed his head a little as he finished what he had to say.

“Your Ladyship, you are the Teyrna of Highever now. I’m sorry.”


	5. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann struggles to do her duty while dealing with the loss of her family; Eideann analyses the situation and makes her plans to counter the darkspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: character deaths (mentioned) and grief
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> (Today will be a double-hitter. Expect the next chapter shortly as it is almost done. ;) ~HR)

Her entire world was spinning. She stepped back as a mage hurried to help Ser Gilmore and the guardsmen took her place supporting him, and then she turned her back, because she couldn’t think…couldn’t process…

She _needed_ to think.

She took a few steps back, forcing away every emotion but cold logic, refusing to feel the blow that had knocked all the breath from her.

_You’re the Teyrna of Highever._

She tried to swallow but it was catching in her throat. She was shaking, she realized, glancing at her hands.

Someone had come towards her, and she knew who it would be. Cailan. Who else? He reached a hand out to her, but she recoiled as if stung, shaking her head.

“Eideann…”

“Your Majesty. I…I need a moment.” _Just a moment. A moment a thousand years long to understand this._

How? Why? Why would Arl Howe do this? 

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breath, holding in the grief and the tears as she made herself think of the logic, as she made herself understand. This was bigger than Highever. _Why now?_ a voice whispered to her.

“He can’t think to get away with this!” Cailan was saying angrily, and Loghain was silent and still. And Eideann opened her eyes.

 _He does think he will get away with this. He thinks he will get away with this because he does not think that anyone will stop him. Why would no one stop him? Unless no one can stop him._ Her eyes tracked to Teyrn Loghain a brief moment, and then, shaking, she pulled her cloak tight about her. 

“Ser Gilmore,” she said quietly, “will you be alright without me?”

“I’ll manage, Your Ladyship,” the knight said miserably. Eideann nodded, then glanced to Cailan.

“I need to speak to my men. Please, will you wait here for me to return, Your Majesty?” Cailan blinked, a little confused at the subtle order, then gave a nod. The message was not lost on Teyrn Loghain, but before he could speak Eideann looked to him. “Your Lordship, if you would please escort me? There is a matter I need to discuss with you, and it cannot wait, but neither can reporting to Highever’s Commander.” Loghain hesitated, but Eideann held his gaze. She was not going to let him stay. Not with Cailan there unprotected. She was fairly sure where the danger lay now. 

She channeled every inch of her political ability into holding back the grief that swept through her. And then at last Teyrn Loghain crossed the flagstones to join her. She reached to take his arm, a lady and a lord, all propriety, and swallowed hard.

“I…may need your help,” she said quietly to him, this time the voice of a grief-stricken girl. Something in Loghain eased to that. He had his own daughter after all. And he sighed, nodding a little. 

“Lady Cousland,” he murmured. “What is it we need to so urgently discuss?” She set a slow pace so she would have the chance to say what she needed to say, and ignored the curious looks they were earning from soldiers and a few Grey Wardens that she was walking arm in arm with him. She did not dare look back at Cailan. She just trusted he would have the good sense to listen to what she had to say.

“Someone is going to try to kill the King,” she said quietly. “Someone knew Arl Howe was going to attack Highever. He cannot hope to get away with it while Cailan sits the throne. He has allies placed to harm Cailan, and possibly Anora as well.” She did not look to him. She did not dare. Whatever expression he had was not worth seeing, should he read through her ploy. 

Loghain Mac Tir was a strategist. He did not play at politics the way others did. He played at politics like he was planning a war, abrupt and quick and fast, positioning his players for a fatal strike at once, and she did not have much time to counteract that. It would take all her subtlety to reveal so much and yet withhold she knew it was him at the heart of this end of the conspiracy. 

He simply carried on walking, her arm in his, and made a low growling noise of frustration.

“Who? Why? You have experienced something very upsetting, Lady Cousland, which no doubt you might try to explain in any way you can…” 

“No. Rendon Howe is a snake in the grass. He does not have the ability to move as you or I in the open. He does not have the power to throw about getting what he wants. He wields the power of manipulation and cunning, General, and he is doing so now. He would not attack a Teyrnir in the middle of a war unless he knew beyond a doubt that no one would be able to stop him for doing so. And the only way he would know would be if those who had the power to stop him, King Cailan and Queen Anora, were prevented from ever doing so. And the only way to prevent a King or Queen from enacting justice is to end them before they can. Don’t you see? Someone is going to try to kill King Cailan. And Anora is in danger as well.”

She did not mention that Loghain and she were also potential targets because they also had the ability to rise against Arl Howe in retaliation. That would be too obvious, pointing the finger squarely at him. In fact, she was certain that Loghain was behind this plan, because it would take someone of higher status to ensure that other lesser lords and Banns would not act against Arl Howe. It would take a Teyrn or royalty itself to provide protection just as much as it would take a Teyrn or royalty to provide justice. 

How did Arl Howe know that the time was right? There was the possibility he did not know, but she had to presume that somehow he was in contact with Loghain. And she knew that Cailan had set Alistair to watching the General. She needed to speak with him as soon as possible. But she needed to make sure Loghain and his men were nowhere near Cailan when that happened.

She just wanted to cry. She couldn’t. She had to stop, had to think, and had to make sure she had preempted whatever came next in this plan before she could pause for a moment to consider the magnitude of what she had lost. She forced herself to think of the Commander of Highever, and not of Oren.

She stumbled a little at the abrupt image of her nephew rising into her brain, and choked back a sob. Loghain’s arm was what caught her, and he gave her a concerned look.

“Lady Eideann, you need to rest. You need to _grieve_. If you keep pushing yourself – “

“General, a Cousland always does their duty first. My duty right now is to contain this as best as I possibly can and to ensure the safety of the King.” She glared at him, eyes pricking with tears she was desperately trying not to shed, and he stared back, as if seeing her for the first time. He set his jaw and motioned them on.

“Then let us see to your men. They will want to ride northward as soon as they can,” he said darkly. Eideann narrowed her gaze.

Highever’s encampment was massive. It took up almost half the camp. Her Banns were scattered throughout the campsite itself, and her Commander was camped closest to the door. Eideann pulled her arm from Loghain’s rising to full height.

“Your Lordship, you need to return to your own camp, and send riders northward to Denerim to make sure Anora is kept safe. Amaranthine is a mere week north, and it will take nothing for Arl Howe to seize Denerim as well. Please…stop him.” She met his gaze, her own fierce and dark and pleading, and he nodded, then carefully stepped back as they neared her campsite, turning instead towards his own with a grim expression on his face.

But he did not seem worried, and that too told her something as she watched him go. If Teyrn Loghain did not fear for Anora, then either he had already made plans to ensure his daughter would stay safe, or Anora herself was part of the plot as well. She gritted her teeth.

When her Commander saw her approach, the man broke away from his soldiers, coming to her through the rain. 

“My Lady?” the Commander said, caution on his gaze. He glanced a moment after Teyrn Loghain, who did seem to be going towards his camp, presumably to send a letter to either Arl Howe or Anora about what had happened. Eideann tore her gaze away.

“I need him followed. Discreetly,” she told her Commander, who narrowed his eyes but then immediately motioned for two of his less intrusive scouts to do so. Eideann watched them go, then looked to her Commander with tired eyes. “Commander, you have known me a long time. What I have to tell you now is not easy to say. I have received word from Highever. My father will not be joining us, and any troops he may have brought will also not be joining us.” She had to get all the words out before they caught in her throat, before they stopped her breathing and her speaking. She had to say the words. “We have been betrayed, Commander, by Arl Rendon Howe, who has seized Highever and slaughtered everyone within the castle. I am the new Teyrna.” The Commander froze, and then he bristled, the dark stubble on his chin damp with mist rain as he raised his chin.

“Your Ladyship, I will prepare the horses to ride northward immediately – “

“No. You will do no such thing.” The man shook his head.

“Respectfully, Your Ladyship…”

“Commander Bradach!” her voice was a sharp cut that brought him to a halt immediately. “We are here to fight a Blight. The horde is days away, and the King himself is in danger. We will _not_ ride north and leave him here to die. For all of _Ferelden’s_ sake we must not. It is our vital duty that we stay, no matter what our hearts would wish instead.” She was shaking again. “I wish we could ride immediately, bring the wrath of the Maker himself down on Rendon Howe’s traitorous head and make him pay in blood for every life lost to us in the castle, but we can’t, Commander. We can’t…” she trailed off, forcing herself to steady, to stay strong. “We _MUST_ not.” He nodded.

“What are your orders, Your Ladyship?”

“I want a unit of cavalry, your very best with me for the battle. I want our finest warriors split into two groups. One will stand with the King in the valley, and the other will stand with Teyrn Loghain. And you are to tell them that they are to follow orders, no matter what they are, or the King himself my die and all of Ferelden will fall.” The Commander narrowed his eyes, then nodded, giving her a salute. 

“And our archers?” 

“Line the battlements above the valley, and tell them to aim for darkspawn. And our mabari line will be split between the valley and the trees as well. Treat this battle as if ours is the only force on the field, Commander. You know what to do.” He nodded solemnly, and then she glancing back to where Teyrn Loghain had vanished. “And watch him. I want regular reports on everything he does. Everything.” 

“Understood, Your Ladyship.” She nodded, then looked away, a moment, drawing a breath. 

“Summon my Banns, please? I need…I need a word with them.” 

She stood then in the rain, alone, holding back the wash of tears that threatened her. She needed to get this out of the way first as last. Not all of her Banns had ridden south with her, but a fair few had, and she needed to rally the north, especially if Rendon Howe was now reigning in Highever in her father’s place. In _her_ place. 

That meeting went quickly enough. As the Banns began to appear, she made it immediately clear that there was something horrible afoot and that there was a darker threat at play than they had believed. And she also made it subtly clear to those she trusted that they would be fighting the darkspawn and then fighting for the Coastlands, and that she was not going to brook any arguments with that plan. 

The Couslands had held power as long as they had because they served as Teyrns were meant to serve. They had lasted because they recognized that above all else came everything else. They were not the lords, they were the vassals. One by one she made her promises, called forth the loyalty they had always shown her family, and they answered, angry and thirsting for justice and vengeance, afraid their lands would be next if they did nothing. 

“Do you want Rendon Howe as your liege lord?” Eideann asked them, and their answer had been a resounding no. And they had bent the knee to her then, swearing to the new Teyrna of Highever, and she had accepted their oaths with her own.

“I will defend your lands. I will protect your Freeholders from danger. I will be a just and fair arbiter of the rule of law. I will not falter to sacrifice my own life for yours. Of this you have my oath, first of House Cousland, Teyrna Eideann of Highever.” 

And when the ceremony of it was done, and there were only grim faces awaiting what came next, she made her commands for the forthcoming battle. She would divide and conquer. Now she must beat two armies, and she must protect the king.

 _A Cousland always does their duty first._

She wandered back towards the other camp then, a final thing demanding her attention, but not before she sent her cousin Bann Alfstanna to ensure that Cailan was still in his tent and not alone. Better he had some company, and Alfstanna was one of those she trusted implicitly. Alfstanna was a master longbowman, the Lady of the Waking Sea. She had pulled her cousin aside and explained she was to guard against Teyrn Loghain, and the darkness in Alfstanna’s eyes at that…

“He is involved in what has happened at Highever.” Alfstanna, her cousin on her mother’s side, and simply looked for all the world like Eleanor Cousland a moment.

“I will make him pay if he comes near our King,” she had said in a low threat.

Eideann’s footsteps did not take her to Cailan’s tent. Instead, she went to the Grey Warden’s tent, where she stood in the way demanding to see Warden-Commander Duncan. The Warden-Constable, a massive man with more beard than face, stood with her, face dark and fierce and looking as imposing as she had thought he could. It did not take long for one of the other Wardens to find Duncan, who arrived with a similarly dark look, Alistair in tow.

“What has happened?” the Warden-Commander asked sharply as they approached, and the Warden-Constable simply motioned to her. She stood, clad in her velvet cloak, arms crossed, and considered him.

“Warden-Commander. Walk with me,” she said quietly, motioning for him to accompany her. “Prince Alistair, you will need to come as well.” The Warden-Commander raised an eyebrow at her use of the title, but motioned for Alistair to join them, so Eideann took a path along the Ostagar battlements away from the other troops, her looks severe.

They walked in silence for a little while until she was certain they were out of earshot of any potential spies. And then she paused, glancing out across the valley.

“Warden-Commander, thank you for your time,” she said quietly, reaching to run a hand over the Tevinter ruins beside her, smooth from time and bleached white as bone in the Korcari rain. “I am afraid we do not have much time, and the news I must deliver is not a happy one.” She looked to him then, cold as ice. “My father, the Teyrn of Highever, is dead, as are all those that remained in Highever Castle. Rendon Howe has sacked Highever, and as a result I am the Teyrna of Highever.” Duncan eyed her up warily, even as Alistair caught himself from some exclamation of shock. “I mention this because it will affect the battle here.”

“I would not recommend you leave, Your Ladyship,” Duncan said quickly, but Eideann put up a hand, shaking her head.

“I have no intention of abandoning the King,” she said. “But you shall still only have half the army you wanted, Commander.” She grimaced. “Rendon Howe acted with the assumption he would be able to get away with the act, or he would never have raised arms against Highever at all. He did this, because he assumes that the King will not be able to stop him. And the only way he could safely assume that, was if there was a plot to kill the King.” Her gaze shifted to Alistair a moment, then back to Duncan. “In fact, the plot may be to kill all of the Theirin bloodline, since I am hardly the only noble to know of your existence, Alistair.” She gritted her teeth. “The one behind this plot, the one with the power to see the King dead here before he ever returns to Denerim, is Teyrn Loghain. He has both the opportunity and the motivation to do so. With Cailan speaking of setting aside Anora, and the attempt to make an alliance with Orlais, Loghain’s own power will be significantly diminished, and if the Orlesian alliance goes through, Cailan allows Loghain’s worst enemy to return to Ferelden. This is not something Loghain would stand for. And he would see his own daughter stay on the throne. I am not entirely convinced Anora herself is not complicit in the plan.” She grimaced. “I am having him watched, but there are some things I still do not comprehend about his plan that I need to learn quickly. Alistair, you have been following the Teyrn for Cailan.” Duncan looked surprised at that but Eideann ignored him. “Has he sent any riders northward or to Anora?”

“Possibly,” Alistair said. “I honestly don’t know. I wasn’t exactly told what I was looking for. I’m not a spy. I’m a warrior.” Eideann sighed.

“Then we must assume he has and that Anora is aware of what has transpired here.” She crossed her arms again. “Loghain is not a political man, Warden-Commander. He is a military man. I believe that he will choose his time to strike against Cailan during the battle. It is an easy thing for a military mastermind to orchestrate a few more deaths in a battle he controls. Your forces will be with the King, and you shall have half of my best men as well as a cavalry support in the valley for the flanking maneuver. My longbowmen will line the battlements and provide what cover is possible from above. Maker protect you in the valley. It’s all I can do.” She glanced to Alistair then. “You will not be in that valley. If you go down there, we risk both of Maric’s sons, and if you both fall in the battle, there will be no way left to stand against Anora and her father, except if Highever marches into battle against Gwaren and tears the country apart. I must request – no I beg of you – “she looked to Duncan. “You must not take Alistair down there.”

“What?!” Alistair planted his hands on his hips. “I won’t be in the battle?!” Eideann met his gaze, but she had made her decision. 

“If you will not keep him out of the fight, Warden-Commander, then I will be forced to take drastic action.” 

“Why can’t you make Cailan stand back?” 

“Because that valley is still the safest place for him, because Loghain and none of Loghain’s men will be down there,” she said fiercely. “But you are a secondary target for Loghain. He must take down Cailan, and only then does your survival matter. If we can keep you safe as well…”

“Wait.” Duncan put up a hand, pinching his temples with the other, and shook his head. “How do you know all of this? Someone attacks Highever Castle, and suddenly there’s a plot to kill the King?”

“There was always a plot to kill the King,” Eideann said darkly. “Cailan himself is aware of it and has been for some time. Highever is only a piece, only a part. Now I am personally involved in making sure that this plan cannot come to fruition.” She shook her head. “You can choose not to believe it, Warden-Commander, but I am trying to save all our lives. There is an Archdemon in the south quickly closing the gap between us. And there are knives in the darkness here waiting for their chance to strike. That will happen at once, in one go.” She met his eyes, her own filled with fire. “I have distributed my men across the battlefield where they can provide the most use. We will follow the plan to flank, and we will charge. I suspect that if there is a trap, it lies there. Loghain will either never light the beacon, or else Loghain will charge too late or not at all. What better way to have the King be overrun?” She grimaced. “My best fighters will help hold off the darkspawn and protect the King in the valley. You must focus on the Archdemon. But we need that beacon lit, no matter what, and so I do not want Loghain’s men doing that.” Her eyes slipped to Alistair. “I need someone I trust in that tower to do that. And there is no one more dedicated to seeing this Blight ended than a Grey Warden. Alistair must go, and I will send any forces with him he may need for protection. If you can spare a second Warden, I would be grateful, but I know there are too few of you already. As for myself, I will be staying very close to the Teyrn. I will split the last of my army into two on either side of the valley, hidden in the woods. The second half will be led by my Commander Bradach. When the time comes to ride into the battle, if Loghain turns his heel, I may need to turn my forces against him, but Commander Bradach can still flank the darkspawn. I can only hope it is enough.” 

“And we shall deal with the Archdemon,” Duncan said darkly. He sighed, shaking his head, and Alistair grimaced.

“I should be in the fight,” he said darkly. “I am a Grey Warden. A Grey Warden must be the one to slay an Archdemon.”

“That will not be you,” Duncan said sharply, “not unless it becomes necessary.” He grimaced and then considered the towers. “I will send Grigor as well. The beacon will be best in a tower, but an Archdemon flies. It won’t be safe lighting the beacon any more than it would be safe in the valley, but at least we know that beacon shall be lit.” Eideann nodded darkly, and then sighed.

“I will inform you the moment we know which tower we will use,” she said quietly. “Teyrn Loghain will be choosing it, so I want to inspect it before the battle if possible. If not…” Her eyes fell on Alistair, and he met that gaze. She saw something steady and determined in his eyes and was grateful for that strength in that moment. “You have a reputation as a great warrior, Prince Alistair. You may need that sword and shield of yours.” He nodded, and then Duncan scowled.

“I need to inform Grigor of what is happening,” he said darkly. “Alistair…” the Warden-Commander’s gaze skimmed to Eideann again, full of knowing. He could see the grief behind all of her ferocity. “Please stay with Lady Eideann until she wishes to return to the camp. She may think of something else, and it is best we not travel alone. She too may be a target.” Alistair glanced between them, then nodded, and Eideann turned her back, peering back into the valley and holding her arms tight about herself. 

Even with her cloak she could feel the cold chill of the Wilds, or perhaps it was the chill of her heart. She grimaced, willing herself to stay strong, listening to the sound of Duncan hurrying away through the misting rain. And then she grimaced, lips twisting as she fought back the swell of anger and despair. 

She felt a soft touch on her arm, and it broke her. She bent her head, feeling the tears spilling out, and broke into sobs, even though she was trying to hold it all back. 

Alistair’s arm came about her, holding her tight and close, and she sank back against a ruined Tevinter column, wrapping her arm about it as if it would hold her up. Alistair pulled her into him then, and she buried her head in his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his black cloak under her cheek as she hid herself away. He held her, silent and steady, one hand tight about her and the other stroking her hair. She just clung back and let the threatening tide of grief and hate and anger wash over her. 

And something else, under it all, a band of steel, red-hot like the fire she was known for, determined not to break, not to surrender. Her tears were hot on her cheeks, even as the cold rain soaked through them, and within the pit of her belly a fire burned white-hot with rage and hate. 

_Highever answers the call._ Rendon Howe would pay.


	6. Queen of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfstanna Eremon has words with Cailan Theirin about her cousin; Duncan recommends following Eideann's plan; Eideann explains how deep the treason really goes; Cailan makes a decision that does not sit well with anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
>  
> 
> Comments always welcome.

For the first time in his life, he was properly afraid. Eideann had seized control of his army and his troops, had ordered him to stay in his tent, and lured his father-in-law away. She had vanished, and then her cousin had appeared in his tent, saying she was there to watch over him, and Bann Alfstanna was armed to the teeth, even though she sat now on a folding stool before the table in the front of his tent casually flipping through cards. 

Coastlanders.

More than that though, he was afraid for Eideann, who had gone off into danger and not returned. Who knew what sort of plots had slipped past him into his own camp? He was aware that Loghain might prove a threat, but he could not reconcile the fact that Bryce Cousland and his family was dead and the Flame of Highever was suddenly the only high-ranking ally he had. He had been banking on Bryce’s cool patience to bring Loghain to heel. Eideann, who had been visibly shaking, had immediately picked up the reins and taken charge, and the fact she could do so when so emotionally compromised scared him a little.

This. This was the blood of the Alamarri Teyrns. This was the power that had held the Coastlands for centuries. This ferocity. This determination. This duty. 

Her family had just been murdered. Would she ride north?

“No.” He looked up sharply, holding his cards in both hands, at Alfstanna, who was considering him with teal eyes. “No,” she repeated. “She will not ride north.” He had not realized he had spoken aloud. Alfstanna glanced back to her cards. “She will stay and wage war for Ferelden first. Highever is small compared to a country.” 

That truth cut like a knife, but he recognized the Coastlanders in it, recognized the truth of it, the quiet suffering and dignity of a people who had made it their family maxim to always put that duty to others first. 

“Will…will she…be alright?” Alfstanna looked to him with quiet, curious, piercing eyes.

“Eventually,” she finally said. “My cousin has never been the sort to wilt and hide away. She will grieve for Highever when she has a moment to think on it properly. But until then she will carry on like wildfire until everything that stands against her is ashes in the wind.” Alfstanna was angry too. Of course she was. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were her aunt and uncle. He stiffened a little.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “This must be hard.” 

“We will do our duty,” Alfstanna said. She was not a Cousland, but those words seemed bred into northerners from birth, no matter their lineage. So Cailan let it be. Alfstanna simply eyed him up. “Your Majesty…what exactly is your relationship with my cousin?” 

That had been a question he had expected, but not from her. He glanced up, quiet, and considered her.

“She is one of my most trusted associates,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully. Alfstanna shook her head.

“If you hurt her,” the Bann of Waking Sea said angrily, “you will not live to regret it.” 

“A threat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She just let it hang between them a moment in silence before laying down her card, the Lovers, twined together in a field of painted grass. She considered it a moment, then her teal gaze slipped up to him.

“A promise,” she murmured, sitting back. In Ferelden, the Banns chose the King in the Landsmeet. It was not a wise move to upset one’s supporters. Eideann had a full half of Ferelden at her beck and call because of her Teyrnir. He was still riding Maric the Savior’s coattails in his own popularity. He had to be very careful not to tip the scales. So he simply smiled and reached for the Lovers card on the table, twisting it to face her and tapping on it gently with his fingers.

“I will never harm Teyrna Cousland,” he said quietly. “I respect her far too much for that.” And then he reached to play his own card, the Queen of Swords. “In fact, I think she’s the most incredible woman I have ever had the opportunity to meet.” He laid down his card atop the Lovers card, and met Alfstanna’s gaze. The Bann simply set down the rest of her cards, then rose quietly and gave a slight bow of head.

“Be kind,” she told him in a low murmur, sweeping the cards from the table and shuffling them back into the pack to hide them away. “And do not be overeager to show your hand next time.” 

She turned her back to him then, crossing her arms over her leather jerkin, bow still at her back and several knives crossed beneath her belt where she could reach them. 

“She asked me to watch over you,” she said quietly then, and he looked up. “She’s scared, Your Majesty. Eideann Cousland does not get scared for no reason. And this is not about Highever. She says it has to do with your father-in-law.” Cailan glanced to the table, pushing the block of cards away towards the outside off his maps, and then rose himself, leaning on his hands planted before him. 

“Perhaps,” he replied. “I am not entirely sure myself. She works too quickly for me to keep up. I trust her to know what she is doing.” Alfstanna glanced back at him over her shoulder, short brown hair falling a little about her face.

“I know about the Tourney, what happened between you there. And that brother of yours. Maric’s bastard.” Cailan felt a small tinge of anger and he closed his eyes.

“He is Maric’s son, a Theirin,” he said quietly. “I don’t give a damn if his mother was a serving maid or a common whore. He is _my_ heir.” His eyes flickered up to her, cold like chips of ice. “You would do well to remember it.” Alfstanna was quiet a moment, eyes severe, and she did not look away. And then she gave the lightest of smiles.

“Maker, it’s true then? You really do plan to acknowledge him?” 

“If that is what he wishes,” Cailan said quietly.

“And where does my cousin fit into all this business then?” the Bann of Waking Sea asked, turning back to him, arms still crossed about her thin frame.

“Where do you think she should be?” he asked quietly. She simply smirked then, looking away and shaking her head.

“If you step one foot wrong here, Your Majesty, half of Ferelden will proclaim a new Queen, and damn the Theirin bloodline. I think you know that as well as I.” She gazed darkly at the map. “People do not follow the Couslands because of their blood, but because of their fire, their duty, their sacrifice. And you know that better than anyone, don’t you?” Cailan sighed and then looked away. He could still feel the memory of her on his skin, and he narrowed his gaze.

“Yes,” he murmured.

The tent flaps jerked back and they both looked up, Alfstanna’s hand on one of her knives before he could even blink. But it was Warden-Commander Duncan who entered. He considered them both with a flat look, then gave a bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “The Teyrna has told me of the situation, and her plan for dealing with it.”

“That was quick,” Alfstanna murmured, releasing her knife and shifting her weight. “She must be distraught. She only thinks that quickly when she’s trying to distract herself.”

“Her plan _will_ work,” Duncan said quietly, but he sounded a little hesitant. “I thought you should know she plans to reinforce the valley line with a number of her own troops, plant a Grey Warden agent or two to light the beacon, and ride into the flanking maneuver personally.” Cailan started.

“She _what_?!” he demanded, standing up straight from the table. “She _can’t_! She’s a Teyrna, for the Maker’s sake! I can’t let her go riding into a darkspawn horde!”

“While you stand in front of it and Teyrn Loghain is doing the same thing?” Alfstanna muttered darkly. “You can’t tell her no, Your Majesty. She won’t listen.”

“Why?!” Cailan insisted. “Why is she so insistent on _this_ plan?!” Duncan gave him a grim-faced stare.

“Because she wants to be able to bring down Teyrn Loghain if he breaks ranks. She believes that he is going to try to kill you.” Cailan groaned, sinking into his folded seat again and burying his head in his hands.

“She has just lost her family. She’s grief-stricken. We can’t let her – “

“And she insists you stay on the front line where her own men can defend you and you will be safe from Loghain’s treachery.” 

“And Alistair?” Cailan asked darkly.

“He is the one she is sending to light the beacon. I will make sure one of my best goes with him, and her Ladyship has promised a compliment of her personal guard as well,” Duncan grimaced. Alfstanna shook her head.

“Shall we let her plan the next war?” she chuckled, then glanced to Cailan. “Do as she recommends. She’s always been good at puzzles and strategy. She was beating me at chess when she was seven. She’s trying to outwit Teyrn Loghain, after all.” Cailan just darkened.

“She is going to get herself killed,” he grumbled angrily. “I can’t let her do that.” Then he sighed, letting his hands drop. “I don’t have much of a choice do I? Maker…” Alfstanna gave him a sympathetic look, and Duncan shifted a little.

“For now,” he said quietly, “I think it is best to let Lady Eideann hand this potential civil war while we focus on the horde. I trust her judgment. She has put considerable thought into how best to supply her troops to all fronts. It is the best chance we have, You Majesty.” Cailan grimaced.

“So then there’s only waiting.” He looked to Alfstanna. “When this is done, when we win here, we will be turning northward.” Alfstanna nodded, her teal eyes hard as gemstones now. 

“First things first,” she said.

The tent flap jerked back again and it was Alistair who came in this time, pausing a little surprised at the number of people in the tent. He shot Cailan a curious look, then gave a soldier’s bow to Duncan. Behind him, Eideann Cousland swept in, reaching to catch Alfstanna’s arm a moment. The Bann of Waking Sea nodded, then slipped out past them. Eideann glanced to the Warden-Commander a moment, then looked to Cailan. He could see the redness about her eyes. She’d been crying. He wanted to rise, to go to her, but he saw also that Alistair had a very severe sort of look and realized that the comforting had already been done. 

He rose, considering her.

“So then,” he said quietly. “You’re going to win me a war, Lady Eideann.” She simply met his gaze, her own rainy ones fierce, burning with cold fire.

“I always was going to,” she said quietly, her voice strong and steady. “Highever answers the call.” She bowed her head a little then, but kept eye contact. “Cailan, we need to speak.” Duncan looked to them a moment, and then sighed, bowing to them both.

“I shall take my leave. I will return in a few hours’ time, hopefully with better news from my scouts.” Alistair turned to follow, but Eideann caught his arm, refusing to let him go. So the three of them were stood then, gathered about the table in Cailan’s tent, and Eideann swallowed.

“My people are watching Loghain,” she said quietly, “and whether he makes any further moves or not we shall be aware of it almost immediately. But what concerns me is what has already been done.” She glanced to the map. “I need you to answer this truthfully, Cailan. Have you told Anora that you are planning to set her aside?” He froze, brows lowered, and considered her. 

“I hardly think now - ” he began, but she cut him off with a sharp, dark look. 

“Have you told Anora?” He sighed.

“We had discussed it. Before I left with Duncan to come south. We…parted on bad terms, but I thought she would…” he trailed off, considering her. “Why? What are you saying?” Eideann turned away, sweeping across the carpets and pacing back and forth. She cradled one arm in the other, biting at her fingernails as she considered all the pieces. And then finally she paused and looked up.

“Because a coup needs a figure head and that was never going to be Loghain,” she finally told him quietly. “Think about this just a moment, if you will: what is Anora’s claim to the throne of Ferelden?” 

“Marriage,” he said simply. That was true. He was King, after all. Anora was Queen-consort, not Queen-regent. 

“And how is a monarch chosen by Ferelden?” 

“The Landsmeet,” Alistair said quietly, eyes dark as well. He was staring at the map, but clearly seeing beyond it to something else. Cailan nodded.

“The Banns have to support the monarchy, or the monarchy falls. But how does this matter with Anora?” 

“She has not got the support of the monarchy. In fact, the only support she has comes through you, and a great deal of that comes through Teyrn Loghain.” She grimaced. “You know how the last Landsmeet happened.” Cailan grimaced, staring at her. When he had been crowned, it had been by the grace of Bryce Cousland alone he had won. The original competition had actually been between a Cousland lord and a Theirin boy. Bryce had put a stop to that, thrown his weight behind Cailan’s claim and refused to take a stand for the throne. “Trust in Maric’s son,” he had said at the time. 

But against Anora, would Bryce have done the same? He was not sure. And he did not like where this was going. Eideann’s eyes were narrow and dark like the stormy Waking Sea.

“Suppose, for a moment, that Loghain did succeed in assassinating you,” Eideann said, and he forgave her for the treasonous thoughts since he knew she was trying to make him understand what she had so quickly grasped before. “Loghain would throw his weight behind his daughter, and Gwaren would keep the throne under Anora. She would remain your Queen, widowed. But a Landsmeet is what decides the throne, so a Landsmeet would be called. And the primary challenger to that would be the same as it was last time, Teyrn Cousland, who brings the entire Coastlands and a significant alliance with the Arling of South Reach. Anora is toppled and Teyrn Cousland becomes King, which he would do, because it would be his duty to Ferelden to do so.” She grimaced. “Anora is no warrior, but my father was a veteran of the Orlesian war, and he knows how to lead men. He would be the right King to battle a horde if it fell here.” Cailan gritted his teeth, feeling a darkness creeping over his heart. “So how do you stop that challenge?”

“Seize Highever Castle and murder the Couslands before they can touch you,” he said quietly. Eideann’s eyes flashed dark with her confirmation.

“Rendon Howe has only ever done what will give him power and make him rich. The branch family of the Howes once ruled Highever before Conobar Elstan’s murder. He would stand to gain an entire Teyrnir for his aid. And there is only one person who could promise him that title when a Teyrnir is meant to be earned, not given.” Cailan shook his head.

“You’re saying – “

“Anora is trying to kill you, and Loghain and Arl Howe are part of the plot, and all of this is an attempt to use the darkspawn threat to subvert your plan to replace your Queen.” Cailan turned away. He had been friends with Anora for years. When last they had spoken, she had seemed to understand, to recognize that they had an obligation…he had an obligation…

He had thought she would be happier trying to find her own way. He had been planning to give her lands, power, let her have her own life for once, instead of being inextricably tied to him. 

He had thought she would enjoy her freedom. Anora was headstrong and sure of herself. He had never believed it possible that she could…

But he had never really thought it possible that Loghain would either…

He looked back, catching Eideann’s eyes, a horrified feeling of anger and betrayal and fear roiling inside him. And then it was shattered by Alistair, who was staring at him with dark eyes.

“You’re going to replace your Queen?” he said quietly, and his eyes were dark and angry. “With _who_?!” Cailan felt the force of that like a blow. Alistair was angry, confused, and feeling threatened. Why…?

Unless…he thought that the entire thing…

_Eideann._

She saved them both in that moment.

“That,” she said quietly, “is undecided at the moment.” She shook her head. “What is important is that the very decision alone was threatening enough to kick off an assassination plot, and both of you are in danger, and myself as well. I am also a flaw in this plan now.” She looked so tired, so world-weary, so angry and worn down. Even her reddened eyes were heavy with the darkness she was carrying on her soul in the wake of the day’s news. “Loghain does not make plans that play out over years. He is a military man. He acts quickly and decisively. He controls the field. If we act quickly, we can prevent that from being the case. If we are wise in how we handle the rest of this battle, we can defeat the darkspawn and prevent Loghain from getting his way, however he intends to do that.” Cailan shook his head, turning to her.

“I can’t let you ride into the thick of this, Eideann. I can’t,” he said quietly, desperately. She just met his eyes.

“I have to. And so do you. And so does Alistair. We don’t have a choice,” she said quietly, gently, like a mother explaining to a child. “We were born to defend others, to protect and serve. You as a King, Alistair as a Grey Warden, and me as a Teyrna. I won’t hide away from that, and I won’t let either of you hide away either. If even one part of our plan fails…” She could not finish.

Cailan grimaced, closing his eyes a moment. And then he looked up. 

“Fine, so…how will we handle the rest of this then? The time until the battle?” 

“Act normal,” Eideann said simply. “And let me handle the particulars. But whatever happens, Alistair _must_ go to the beacon. I need that beacon lit if I’m going to reach you in time. And I don’t trust anyone Loghain chooses to make sure it is lit.” She glanced to his brother who just nodded darkly and then drew a breath. Maker, when did Alistair get so old? 

Maker, he felt old himself. Ugh. 

He shook his head, then drew a deep breath. 

“You are not safe staying anywhere else, either of you,” he said simply. “I insist that from here on out we stick close to one another until the fight.” Alistair gave him a look like he was mad, and Eideann just sighed.

“I am supposed to be sleeping in a room full of Grey Wardens,” he said flatly.

“Grey Wardens who are not going to stop a random person at the door,” Cailan replied. “And it’s better than trying to post several guards. My tent is already guarded so it won’t look weird. One of us can always be awake and on the lookout for trouble, and it will be safer. Just for a few days.”

“And _how_ are you going to explain _this_ one away?!” Alistair insisted. “I want sleepovers with my little half-brother in my tent?” Cailan gave him a dark glare.

“How about I am punishing him for back-mouthing his King and as a result he’s on chamber pot duty?” he said in a cold voice. Eideann put up her hands.

“Enough,” she said quietly, putting herself between them. “We will simply say that the Grey Wardens are worried about darkspawn and want a Warden close at hand as the darkspawn get closer, for safety’s sake. Alistair is always with Duncan, so it makes sense that Duncan would have assigned him the task. We can move Alistair’s cot in here too, and then you can both be here under guard.” She grimaced. “I have my own guards. I’ll be just fine in – ”

“No.” She looked at Cailan as he abruptly stopped. “No, I am not letting you be on your own. You’re probably in more danger than the rest of us,” he insisted. “And I won’t let anything happen to you.” Alistair looked to them, brow knitted, and then raised his chin.

“And how are you going to explain the Teyrna of Highever in your tent?” he said quietly. “Last night we were lucky. Another night and we absolutely won’t be.” And there was truth in that. Cailan glanced to Alistair, then to Eideann, drawing a breath.

“There’s only one explanation that people will accept, Eideann,” he said quietly. And then Eideann turned abruptly away.

“No!” she declared archly at Cailan’s look. “Absolutely not!” He sighed, shoulders sinking a little, and tilted his head.

“No what?” Alistair asked with concern. “What is it?” Neither Cailan nor Eideann answered, and then Cailan’s eyes fixed on hers, flat and steady and full of authority where usually they were shining with a quiet light. And she seemed to bend under it, recognizing that look as one she often had herself. 

“Cailan, no, don’t ask me to do this…please! I have enough people staring at me now, judging every move I make. I can’t do this now. I can’t…I’m a Teyrna, for the Maker’s sake! Grant me this one dignity!” 

“A Cousland,” he said quietly, “always does her duty first.” She went still, unmoving. For a moment she just stared at him, like that had been the thing that had broken her. And then she slowly bent, sweeping a formal curtsy, shaking a little.

“As my King commands,” she said bitterly, and then turned away, storming out, cloak billowing behind her. Alistair watched a moment, then glanced back to Cailan.

“What have you done?!” he asked, his tone accusing. “She’s done all of this for you, and you’ve just done something horrible! Her whole family is dead, and you didn’t see her on those battlements, crying her eyes out! Maker’s blood, what in the Void did you just do?!” Cailan fixed him with a flat look.

“If anyone asks you,” he said quietly, “Lady Eideann is the King’s Mistress, and she will be staying in the King’s tent at his pleasure.” And then he too swept out, leaving Alistair in his tent alone.

_Eideann, forgive me,_ he thought quietly, peering into the rain as it soaked into his scarlet cloak. _Maker, save us all._


	7. The Cost of Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann confronts Cailan about his command; Alistair and Eideann have a heart to heart; Cailan and Eideann come to an understanding; Cailan asks for a favor (no not that kind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence (mild)
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> Thanks again to MostHopelessofRomantics for beta'ing these last couple chapters. :D <3

The air was tense. Alistair sat on his cot along one wall, polishing the mud and the rain from his shield with a rag, head bent low over the griffon sigil seared into the metal. Every so often, he looked up, but it was only to make sure Eideann was where she had been since the last time he checked. 

She sat herself on one of the folding stools, carefully working a block of beeswax across the string of her Waking Sea longbow. Her things were in a pile at her feet, the entire lot: her cloak, her heavier armor, her saddlebags from her horse, and a small chest containing correspondence and private things she never actually seemed to open. A quiver of sharp steel arrows lay atop it all with her blades, and she was quietly working her way through each of her weapons. 

She sat only in her bodice, tunic, and leggings, her boots sitting under the table, and the look on her face was like thunder. Or maybe like lightning, quick to flare and then just as quickly gone as she surrendered to that fate. 

And Alistair hated Cailan for what he had done to get her there.

The word had spread fairly quickly. Cailan had seemed to spread it himself, which made Alistair even more angry. How much respect could he possibly have for the woman if he insisted on dragging her name through the mud before the entire assembled force of Ferelden? What sort of humiliation must she now endure to keep the secret of this plot on their lives? It would be better to face Loghain openly, kill the man, and be done with it! 

Cailan had thrown her own family’s words in her face. He had commanded her obeisance to keep their secret safe. To protect his own life, he had cast away Eideann’s. And Alistair wanted blood for that. 

Eideann was five times the noble that Cailan could ever be. Fuck his brother. Fuck all of this…

He was about to say something, though he himself was not sure what, when at last the tent flaps parted, admitting Cailan, and the candle flickered in the wind and the darkness.

Alistair set down his sword, rising, but Eideann had beaten him to it. Cailan got three steps into his own tent before the Teyrna of Highever was upon him.

There was a resounding slap, and Cailan twisted under the force of the blow, wincing and testing for loose teeth. And then his eyes slipped to Eideann where she stood over him, fire in her eyes. 

“I am _not_ your _whore_!” Eideann hissed, her voice full of venom and hate. “I am the Teyrna of Highever. Elthea Cousland bent the knee to Calenhad Theirin after months of war. That power difference has never changed. And if I wanted to, I could break you, and do so far more effectively than Loghain Mac Tir. Remember that next time you command my obedience.” He met her eyes in the low candlelight, and gave a small nod. Eideann stared a moment, shaking, and then slipped to her knee, catching his hand and bending to briefly press her lips against the Theirin signet ring before tearing away. There were tears standing in her eyes as she did it. Alistair gritted his teeth.

Cailan just stood there, watching her a moment, like it had hurt him too, but Alistair did not care. He glared across the way, and then dropped back into his seat, bending to collect his shield. 

“One of us really is a bastard,” he said coldly. Cailan’s gaze flickered to him, hollow and quiet, and then he drew a breath, looking back to Eideann.

“Your Ladyship,” he said quietly. “Eideann…” He carefully knelt before her. “What would you have had me do?”

“You could have just let me stay in my own tent instead of thinking I need your protection to stay alive!” she spat back. “I don’t. I never have needed someone to do my fighting for me. I am trying to win a war for you!” Something…awful…flickered across her face. “My whole family is gone, and the last Cousland is the King’s Harlot. In a single day, a line centuries old has been reduced to _this_.” She spat the words like they were poison.

“You are _not_ the King’s Harlot,” Cailan said angrily, meeting her gaze. She glared at him.

“No?” she was glaring at him.

“If word gets out here, now, about our suspicions, Loghain will quit the field before we meet the horde. I can’t let Ferelden fall to the darkspawn.” She nodded bleakly, because Eideann had probably already thought of all that herself.

“That doesn’t make you any less of an arse,” Alistair cut in angrily. “You sold her out. And you did it by telling everyone she was your Mistress and then summoning her to your bed to do her _duty_.” How could his bastard of a brother not see that? Did he really believe that _this_ was a price he could force upon her? Alistair glared at him, and Cailan glared back.

“Stay out of this, Alistair,” he spat. 

“No.” Alistair rose again, moving to put himself between Eideann and his brother. Cailan rose, anger on his face, and stared him down, but Alistair did not move. “You will _not_ touch her. You won’t even _speak_ to her. You should be begging her forgiveness. You should be kissing her feet at what she has given up for you.” 

“I have given nothing up for him,” Eideann said quietly, and he glanced back to her. She met his eyes. “I have given everything I am to Ferelden. And I would do it again.” Her voice was barely a murmur, but it held the strength he had come to associate with her, and he swallowed.

“Your Ladyship…”

“Just Eideann,” she told him softly, and he saw the sadness there and he drew a breath.

“Eideann…”

“Alistair, it’s alright,” she told him gently, putting a hand on his arm. It burned like fire where she touched his tunic. “I will handle your brother.” And just like that he was watching as she carefully considered Cailan, in front of him now, so close all three of them could touch. “Make this sacrifice count, Cailan. That’s the only thing I ask of you.” Cailan met her eyes, his whole soul there, even Alistair could see, and then he bowed to her, courtly and quiet, and then slipped past her, disappearing into the back of the tent where his living quarters were. Eideann pursed her lips, watching him go, and then she looked to Alistair.

“He is right. This was the best cover we had,” she told him in a mere murmur. “But it was not his choice to make. That is why I am angry.” She bowed her head slightly, looking into the glowing embers of the brazier that was once again alight to keep the tent warm. She clenched her fists at her sides, then released them, sighing. “I was the one who chose this path. I did it five years ago. I’ve been his Mistress all along.” Her eyes skimmed to him. “And yours.” He shook his head violently, feeling sick.

“Never,” he insisted, reaching to catch her hand. “Eideann, that is _not_ what is between us.” She smiled sadly and reached to press her forehead to his, drawing a quiet breath.

“Is it not?” she asked him tenderly, and then she pulled away. “I never thanked you for earlier on the battlements.”

“You do not need to thank me for being a decent human being and someone who cares about you.” She looked to him quietly, and he felt a little tinge of red kiss his cheeks, but he did not look away. “I mean…” She drew close again, carefully reaching to kiss his lips lightly, only for the briefest of moments. 

“I know,” she breathed. “And I am grateful for your kindness, and for your caring.” 

“Eideann,” he murmured, holding fast to her hands, desperate to get the words out while he could. “I…I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know how to fix the damage he’s done. But if I did…” She shook her head, silencing him with another little kiss. 

“Ah, my Knight,” she breathed, then carefully pulled back and knelt before her pile of things. He heard the sound of her opening the box, and when she stood up again, she had a frayed blue ribbon in her hands. She considered it, then carefully moved to tie it loosely to his wrist. “You do not need to make anything better. I don’t regret a moment of it,” she told him quietly as she finished the final loop. “You are my champion, and you always will be.” 

Then she stepped back and bent to close the box of hers before considering the back of the tent with narrowed eyes. 

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said quickly, catching her nervousness. “You don’t have to see him. You don’t have to do anything.” She glanced to him, raising an eyebrow and he hesitated. “We could just let him die and go back to your tent,” he suggested simply, and Eideann gave a soft chuckle.

“Oh I think not,” she said simply. “That would just make things more difficult.” And then she sighed, giving him a small nod. He realized she planned to go back there anyway. 

“Eideann…if you need me…” She smiled and gave him a slight bow of head, every inch a lady. 

“I will call,” she told him quietly, and then carefully slipped into the back of the tent through the curtain.

Alistair swallowed, staring at the curtain, and then he turned away angrily and sank back down to finish working his shield into a shine. But he kept one ear on the back of the tent, and he could not shake the unsettled feeling that everything was all wrong. And this time it was not the darkspawn that were bothering him.

***

Eideann paused above him, gazing down on Cailan and feeling the aching in her heart. Behind her, Alistair with her favor tied to her wrist was watching over her, she knew. But she forced him from her mind a moment to come to terms with this man before her now. Cailan sat atop is bed, head buried in his hands. She did not move, waiting for him to look up, to acknowledge what he had done, because she was not going to bend to him again. And then finally he did look up. 

There was a dark look in his eyes, a deep seated sorrow that made her think of Teagan Guerrin’s eyes when he had come to spend summers with Fergus at Highever. She had to remind herself Teagan was his uncle, and that Cailan was still young, only a few years older than herself, with the weight of Ferelden pressing on him. She pursed her lips, and then slowly sank down onto the bedding to cross her legs before him. 

For a moment they just looked at one another, truly looked. And she saw the desperation, the weariness in him. And he saw the fear in her, and the pride that refused to abate. And then he drew a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, too low for Alistair to hear.

“No,” she told him simply. “You are not sorry. And I don’t need you to be.” She looked away then, sighing. “You were right when you said it was the only thing the rank and file would believe. Better this than half the army realize your plan is to leave Anora, and that Loghain will turn on them because of it. Half of them may even go with him if they knew. This place is not a safe place for that to be common knowledge.” She gritted her teeth. “If the cost for keeping all that a secret, the cost for keeping this army in one peace, is my pride, I will pay that cost. How could I not?” She looked to him and he was watching her. “I have spent my life building a reputation of fearsome resolve. I’ve done it on purpose to keep clear of men who only wanted me for a title and a bloodline. And it worked.” She felt a wash of bitterness wash over her. “Too well, perhaps.” 

_And now they all think you were simply aiming higher, for a man you could not even have._

“You are the most incredible woman I have ever met,” Cailan said quietly. “And I hurt you this badly, brought you down in the eyes of your soldiers, the Banns that follow you, so that we can keep an army here to throw against the darkspawn. But I _will_ stand by you, Eideann. I will _not_ hear your name spoken with contempt because of something I have chosen. If there is any justice in the world…” She shook her head.

“Enough. Let it be,” she murmured, and he sighed, hanging his head. She could see the loathing in his eyes, all directed inward, and she looked away because it hurt to see it that way. 

“When this is done,” Cailan said quietly, unable to look to her, “I will need to deal with Anora.” 

“Yes,” Eideann said. She could not do it all alone. He glanced to her.

“All this because I thought I needed an heir. The best heir I could want is on the other side of that curtain, a better man than I will ever be,” he muttered.

“Ferelden,” Eideann said after a quiet moment, “has seen enough of war to last a thousand lifetimes. The Theirin line is all that held this country together during the Orlesian Occupation, and _that_ was the legacy we fought to protect and reclaim in those years. A single generation is not enough time to let it fade away to nothing. You are right.” He looked up sharply, and she met his gaze. “You need an heir. Ferelden needs that connection to Calenhad or we will fracture into warring tribes again.” She was shaking a little, she could see it in her hands in her lap. She felt afraid at the very thought of that future. She couldn’t lead Highever into war against all the Teyrns that would spring up with the death of a nation, not now and not later. One Teyrn aligned against her was enough. This could not be allowed to be the new normal. “A Theirin heir of Mac Tir blood would have been a dream come true,” she added quietly. “The Hero of River Dane and Maric the Savior living on in one bloodline. But it hasn’t happened. And it won’t happen. And no amount of wishing otherwise will change it.” He grimaced, because he knew all this already, had thought of it all himself, and then he drew a breath.

“I grew up thinking of Anora as my wife, even when we were younger. I never thought of anything else for the future. I had my desires, but they came after that duty to Ferelden. But duty does not always appear to turn out as we planned,” he told her quietly. And then he shook his head, looking up. “Eideann, I swear when this is done we will march on Highever and bring Rendon Howe to justice.” She shook her head.

“No,” she told him quietly. “We will march on Denerim, and then I shall reclaim Highever myself. But I thank you for the offer.” He exhaled, and then he looked away angrily, fists clenching and unclenching. 

“I started all this. I _will_ make it right.” He glared at the curtain a moment, and then sighed and looked back at her. His eyes were severe again, commanding, kingly where before they were simply the eyes of a sad young man. And he carefully held out his hand to her. “I will make it right,” he repeated. “I swear it to you.” She sighed, considering his hand, then reached to clasp his wrist, a soldier’s sort of oath, and nodded. 

“Together, then,” she said simply. “You will need my help.”

“I think,” he said softly, “I have always needed Cousland help.” She felt a deep pool of heat inside her, and a well of sadness that opened up to let her fall. She thought of her father, and had to look away as tears pricked her eyes. 

She needed Cousland help herself. She felt the sorrow, and the weight of responsibility, and it cut through her. 

“What was your plan?” she asked him after a moment. “When you decided that you needed to set aside Anora?” He looked to her with tired eyes.

“I tried to make an alliance with Empress Celene of Orlais in exchange for troops,” he finally said in a very low voice, as though he were ashamed. “Whether Fereldans would have accepted such a match remained to be seen, and depended entirely on the terms of that match. It was foolish, and reckless, but I needed troops. I did not know if Highever was going to make it in time. I thought…a political sort of alliance…” And then he trailed off, shaking his head. “Stupid…” he finally murmured. And then he looked up to her.

“Eideann,” he said in a very quiet voice, all full of…something. “That day at the Tourney, when you and Alistair hid in my tent…I have never wanted anything more than I wanted you that day. Something in me saw something in you…that recklessness, that freedom of spirit, and I yearned in a way I haven’t ever yearned for anything.” He looked away, picking at the furs on his bed. “And that hasn’t changed. It is still there. Every time I see you…that strength, that ferocity…I feel like the mere sight of you sets me on fire.” She stared at him, listening quietly, her lips parted slightly. “I have no right to feel like that about anyone. But that day at the Tourney, and last night…they are some of the most treasured moments of my life…” She drew a slow breath, and he swallowed, giving her a bitter little smile and nodding towards the curtain. 

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he murmured. “I’ve seen that look in his eyes, and something more. I think he loves you a little. Or maybe he just doesn’t know…doesn’t understand…” He bowed his head. “I have to ask you something.” 

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” she told him quietly, recognizing the seriousness in his words. He just gave a bitter laugh, looking up at the ceiling a moment, then turning towards her, catching her hand in his. 

“Eideann, Ferelden needs a Queen. A strong Queen. A Queen that would give up everything to see that Ferelden survives. And Ferelden needs a Fereldan Queen. I’m not asking for my sake. I don’t have a right to ask that of you for myself. I am a man, begging you as the Teyrna of Highever, to be what Ferelden needs. Please.” She froze, staring at him, and felt a lump in her throat. 

She carefully pulled her hand back.

Highever was gone. Even if she reclaimed it, it would never be the same, never be what she remembered. Without her brother, or Oriana, or Oren to fill the halls with laughter. She would never be comfortable in those halls again. 

And Ferelden did need a real Queen, not Anora who was plotting to kill the true king to keep a throne that was never hers to have. 

But this was a man who had told an army she was the King’s Mistress. He had cut her deeply, and she could not do it for his sake knowing that. Not now when it was so fresh, still a bleeding wound.

Most marriages were made for political purposes. She had always known her own would be such. As the Teyrna of Highever, she was now in a position to make a political alliance that could strengthen Ferelden with ties to almost any nation, if she so chose. But her priority was Ferelden. And she had never had any desire to leave. 

This was not like the marriages her mother had tried to make for her, the political matches to bring other sons from other houses higher because of her status. Cailan wanted nothing from her but that which she had always been willing to give: her strength, her power, her cunning, and her duty to Ferelden. He wanted her to be her. And wasn’t that all she had ever wanted herself?

But she did not love him, and her respect had taken a battering over the last twenty four hours. 

And there was another thing as well.

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head, and he gave a short breath, looking like he did not know what to say, until she clarified. “No, I can’t do that to Alistair.” His eyes slid to the curtain, and then back to her, and he nodded, releasing her hand.

“I thought that you might think of that,” he finally admitted, and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His blond hair fell about his face, longer than hers was, held back in a loose braid that was fraying left and right. “The truth is, even if I remarry, I may not be able to have an heir myself. I have no way of knowing if the fault lies with myself or with Anora.” His brow was lowered. “It may be me, in which case, I may never have an heir no matter who is Queen.”

She swallowed, considering him.

“Are you saying…?”

“I don’t want _him_ to go either. He’s madly in love with you, Eideann, can’t you see that? And he’s Maric’s son as much as I. Maric’s grandchild has to sit the throne of Ferelden, and that grandchild should have a Cousland mother. I don’t care if the babe is mine or his, and we would have no way to tell anyway, would we?” 

Eideann wet her lips, and then glanced towards the curtain.

“Have you said anything of this to him?” she murmured. He simply gave a mirthless smile and bowed his head.

“How?” he asked her honestly, voice raw. “By telling him to do his duty?” He grimaced, shaking his head. “I have no talent for explaining logic the way you do, Eideann. I am a selfish and desperate man who is promising you something that I may never even be able to give you in the end. I might die against the darkspawn. I might die in some treasonous plot. But I’m doing the best I can with what I have, and if it hurts to do that, so be it. I will bear that pain. I wish I could bear yours as well.”

“I will bear my own burdens,” she told him quietly. And then she raised her chin and leaned forward towards the curtain. “Alistair…” 

Her voice carried, soft and a little nervous, and the curtain ripped back a little to expose the Grey Warden, who was glaring at Cailan as if he could kill him by staring at him. Eideann simply glanced into the other side of the tent. 

“Alistair,” she said quietly, “put out the candle and then come and join us, if you please?” It was an order, hiding in the skin of a request. He glanced at her, wary, but then disappeared and the entire tent was plunged into darkness as only the embers in the brazier still glowed. And then, clad in only his Grey Warden tunic, he joined them on the King’s bed again. 

“I can sleep between you if he’s causing problems,” he said simply, and Eideann smiled a little, then shook her head.

“No…we…have something important we need to discuss.” He looked at her, then his gaze slid to Cailan. Eideann reached to catch his hand. “I need you to listen to me, to all of it, before you say anything,” she said quietly. “And I know you won’t like it, so please hear me out before you comment.” He gave her a careful nod, and his eyes again slipped to his half-brother across the bed. Cailan just shook his head and motioned with his eyes to look to Eideann, who adjusted until she was sitting cross-legged facing only Alistair. She ignored Cailan a moment, taking Alistair’s other hand and wetting her lips before forcing herself to meet his gaze. 

“Alistair,” she said in a measured voice, hearing the sadness and the weariness in her tone. “I’m going to marry Cailan.”


	8. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has to think; Alistair and Cailan have a discussion about Eideann; Eideann gets a third taste of the Theirin Princes. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Sex, Incest, Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome! 
> 
> A BIG thanks for my beta reader Hopeless, who has literally read through four chapters today... XD <3 You're lovely! ~HR

“You want what?” 

“You,” she said again, and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I said I want _you_ , Alistair.” He released her hands, looking away. 

“And him. Both. You’ve said as much before. I’m not a King, like he is. Go…marry him and be happy or whatever.” He pushed himself up and turned away, confused and conflicted and feeling incredibly awkward. And he felt like his heart was being crushed by a giant fist, like a spirit had taken hold to see how much it would take him to feel the pain.

She was _marrying_ him? 

He had known, of course, that there was no way he could ever hold a candle to someone who was actually King. She was a Teyrna, so far above him he could not hope for the good luck to even stand five hundred paces from her, never mind feel her skin on his, taste her on his tongue. And yet he had believed her when she called him Prince like she meant it. Just that morning he had woken to her curled about him, over him, wrapping him up in soft flesh and gentle breathing that was as warm as he wanted it to be. He glanced to the ribbon on his wrist, and then tore that free, thrusting it out at her and then turning on his heel, slipping into his boots as he hurried through the curtain and out of the tent flaps into the cold air. 

Without his cloak, that cold air hit him like a wall, and he paused only a moment to catch his breath before turning away and stalking off towards the battlements, the first place he could think of where he might find some privacy. 

His footsteps rang loud and heavy as he made his way across the flagstones, hands tucked into his armpits as he swallowed back the anxiety and the hurt. He would not cry. 

It was just that…Maker, he had allowed himself to believe even for a moment that in spite of everything there was one woman in the world who wanted him, needed him.

Loved him.

He stopped in his tracks, panting, as that thought washed through him, a shot of warmth that went all the way from head to toes. And then he gritted his teeth and carried on, angry.

Because everything he wanted Cailan had first: a family, a home, a legacy, a lineage, a right to be treated as a person, the recognition of their father. And Eideann. Beautiful, fiery Eideann, who made his heart race and his breath catch, and who looked at him with eyes that told him she understood. 

Who had just told him she was marrying his half-brother, for the sake of Ferelden, but that did not mean what was between them needed to end. 

No? A marriage was for two. There was no room in it for three.

He climbed the steps onto the battlements, where the rain had turned to soft flakes of snow that tumbled down about him as he walked. It was not sticking yet, to the flagstones or the grasses, but it was only a matter of time. 

In the distance he could feel the terrifying swathe of the horde cutting a path through the Wilds towards them. And worse, he could hear the whispers now, the echoes of darkness that threatened to steal his soul away. The past few days it had been Eideann that had kept those whispers away, a light in the darkness. 

There was no room for three. 

Or was there? 

He sighed, pausing at one of the Tevinter towers, and pressed his hand to the cold stone, then leaned his forehead into the wall and battled with his grief and anger. 

Was he just going to be second fiddle forever then? He was a Grey Warden with the powers of a Templar. He was not a child to be toyed with, brought out when it was convenient. He was not their plaything. 

But he had not felt like he was, not with her. He had felt like she genuinely wanted his company, genuinely wanted him.

 _It was you she gave that favor to, you she kissed first in that tent at the Tourney. It was you she named her Champion._ He swallowed, hard, trying to rid himself of the lump that still stuck in his throat, and then smacked the palm of his hand hard against the wall with a sharp cry of anger and pain. 

“Maker take everything!” he spat, then wheeled about and planted his back to the stone wall and slipped down into a seat at the base of the tower, feeling the waters from the rains and the snows seeping into his tunic and leggings. He did not care. He had gotten past cold now, fed by rage instead. And with the darkspawn taint coursing in his blood, cold was hardly a feeling anymore anyway.

 _She was the only thing I ever wanted for myself,_ he thought bitterly. Stolen by Cailan, that one person who had seen Alistair and loved Alistair. Just Alistair.

Just Eideann.

And he bent his head, letting his hands slip into his lap, and shivered as the wind swept over him. 

_I can’t be in the middle of that._

There was the ring of steel, and he looked up sharply to see a group of soldiers emerging from the darkness along the battlements, armed and closing in on him. He had none of his weapons, fool that he was, and he gave a bitter laugh, pushing himself up slowly and shaking his head, holding out his hands.

 _Do it then,_ he thought. _If I don’t fight it, then at least they’ll be quick about it. No one will miss Maric’s bastard._

The soldiers were wearing the golden dragon. Loghain’s men finally making their move. He almost felt proud for a moment that Eideann had countered them so effectively in every way but this. And then he shook his head.

There was a shout from beyond, a man’s voice, and Alistair blinked.

“Duck!” He did so without thinking as an arrow brought down the first attacker, piercing him right through the throat. The second and third turned, and Alistair looked over to see Cailan, Maric’s sword in his hand, and Eideann armed with her bow and quiver, standing against him.

“You will not touch him,” Eideann said in a voice so cold it made his whole heart freeze. He stayed down as two more soldiers ran forward towards Eideann and Cailan. Another turned on him, determined to finish him, but another arrow brought him down.

Cailan roared, blade arcing in a blur of silver in the night and the snows, and hacked through one of the men before shaking his head angrily. 

“You will _not_ have my brother,” he spat, with a ferocity Alistair did not really understand. And then he tossed the sword over their heads. “Alistair!” Alistair rose, reaching, and caught his father’s sword, spinning it into a better grip and then cutting through another of the attackers. Unarmed, Cailan was a prime target then. One of the attackers swung a sword, cutting a gash across Cailan’s torso. Cailan recoiled with a sharp cry of pain, clamping his hand over the wound and grimacing, staggering back. Eideann stepped in front of Cailan and brought down his attacker then another two with her bow in rapid succession. 

And then they were dead, all of Loghain’s men, and Alistair stood in a circle of their bodies, panting, his father’s sword covered in blood. He looked up to see Eideann sliding her arrow back into her quiver, and then realized they were both of them in only their tunics as well, and Cailan was now entirely unarmed and injured. He flipped the sword about in his hand and held it out to his brother, who gave him an odd look, then shook his head.

“You’re better right now,” he said with effort, and Alistair hurried to pull an arm about his neck to help him stay upright.

“You bloody fool!” Eideann said, whirling on him. “You come running out here without even a knife to defend yourself?! What in the Maker’s name are you doing?!” Alistair gave her a dark look.

“Thinking,” he told her curtly. “I do that from time to time. I know it’s not exactly what I’m known for, but on the odd occasion…” He trailed off at the look of fear in her eyes.

“Maker, I thought we were too late,” she gasped, shouldering her bow and then helping him with Cailan. She bent to inspect the gash, biting her lower lip. “It will be alright, but it needs to be treated,” she said sharply, and Cailan nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Nice swordwork though,” he admitted to Alistair who shook his head.

“No, she’s right. I shouldn’t have come running out here like a mad fool,” he admitted, angry with himself now for putting them all in danger. 

“After what we just sprung on you?” Cailan laughed, but it turned into a wince. “I can’t say I blame you.” Alistair made no further comment, still alert for more trouble. Maker, where were Cailan’s guards?

They found them not far off, slain and dumped not far from the King’s camp. Eideann grimaced, then shook her head as they passed, continuing on towards Cailan’s tent.

“I’ll send for mine,” she said darkly, but focused in that moment on getting Cailan inside. She left him to Alistair once they were inside, and motioned to her saddlebags. “There are some bandages in there,” she instructed. She took a moment to gather one of her blades, leaving her bow behind, and then she disappeared back into the knight, sword in hand. 

“Maker, she’ll get herself killed,” Cailan gasped, but Alistair shook his head, setting Maric’s blade on the table.

“Not likely. Did you see how many she brought down? I only got two. You took care of one. The rest was all her.” He helped Cailan sit on the folding stool that Eideann had used earlier, and then helped him dispose of his tunic, exposing the raw wound to the open air and the glow of the embers. Alistair considered it with a grimace, then sighed and went for the saddlebags.

Cailan sat and watched while he worked, eyes a dark grey in the orange glow of the embers. Alistair found a salve which he spread carefully over the wound, ignoring Cailan’s hiss of pain, and then he set to work binding it tight with bandages.

“It isn’t too deep,” he said as he wound the bandages carefully about Cailan’s midriff. “Just going to be sore bending over for a few days.” Cailan sighed, and held his arms clear for the Grey Warden to work. For a moment there was only silence, and then Alistair suddenly paused. He did not look at his brother, focusing on the bandages, but his focus was too intent for just wrapping a wound. “Did…do you both really understand what you’re asking?” he said finally, his voice low. “You…you want me to share your wife. She’d be _your_ wife.” Cailan gave snort, then winced because laughing made his stomach twitch and hurt. He tipped his head back with a sigh.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Haven’t we already been sharing, anyway?” 

“But this is different,” Alistair mumbled. Cailan considered the top of Alistair’s head, golden in the glow from the embers, and shook his head.

“How so?” he asked. “Because she’d be my wife?” Alistair went very still, tying off the bandage, and then leaning back, wrists wresting on the tops of his thighs where he crouched.

“I don’t want to be the extra person,” he finally replied. “A marriage is for two. And I don’t want to be the person who…She’d be sworn to you, to be yours. And if that’s what she wants…I was never worthy of her anyway.” He rose then, turning his back on Cailan to put away the bandages in Eideann’s saddlebags. 

“Maker’s blood!” Cailan exclaimed in exasperation. “You’re my brother! You’re Maric’s son! You’re Prince Alistair! You’re my fucking heir! Stop saying you’re not worthy of this or that!” Alistair looked back sharply.

“It’s easy for you to say,” he said archly. “You’ve always had everything you’ve ever wanted. You slept in feather beds and were treated like a little prince!” He looked away. “I slept in the stable with the horses so long as the Horsemaster didn’t find me, otherwise I was with the dogs.” His voice was angry. “I have clawed for every scrap I could get my entire life, and this one thing…this one person…” He stiffened, falling silent. And then he glanced to Cailan. “You’ve taken everything else. You always have. And now you’ll take her. And I can’t make her a Queen. And Maker, she deserves to be a Queen.” Cailan met his eyes, his own dark and quiet.

“More than I should be King, I think,” he agreed quietly. “But she also deserves to be happy.” He looked away, silver gaze sad as he considered the embers. “I…I’ve always been jealous of you, getting to make your own life from nothing. I bet it was probably very hard at times, but you’ve always kept going, and there’s a strength in that. You could have given up, done a thousand other things, but you’re a good person, and you’ve chosen to persevere. People think of you that way because you _are_ that way. No one is looking at you like you need to be our father.” Alistair gave him a dark look, eyes like gold…

Who had his mother been? Cailan wondered again, before pushing it away. It didn’t matter. 

“I’m still no King,” Alistair said. “And Eideann is a lady.” 

“And she keeps choosing you, and me, both,” Cailan said. He grimaced. “Anora and I have tried for five years for an heir, and nothing. I can’t be the one to destroy what our father built. But…I might not be able to have my own son, Alistair.” He looked at his brother then, and met those amber eyes. And Alistair stared back. “A Theirin has to sit the throne. It can be you, or it can be Eideann’s child. And I know you don’t want to be King.” Alistair shook his head, giving an ironic laugh and then sighing.

“Maker’s breath,” he said, then bowed his head, crossing his arms. “You’re asking me to do this. You’re actually asking me to…fuck…” 

“Well…yes,” Cailan said, grinning at Alistair’s unintentional statement. “But Eideann is also asking you to. Because…Alistair, she won’t do it. She will not marry me and be Queen unless you are in that picture too. She said it flat out. And Ferelden needs a Queen like her.” 

Alistair looked to him, something haunted in his eyes, and then he lowered his brows, biting his tongue. 

Before he could answer, there was the sound of boots on flagstone. Alistair reached for Maric’s sword, ready.

But it was Eideann who entered, after a soft word with some of her men outside. When she saw him, pointing Maric’s blade at her, she put up her hands a little with a smile.

“Well, at least this time we’re prepared,” she murmured, then glanced to Cailan. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not allowed to laugh,” Cailan said simply. “I’m just glad that we reached him in time.” His eyes slid to Alistair who lowered the sword and grimaced.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Eideann shook her head, the scabbard of one of her swords in her hand, ready in case she needed it. 

“No, we should not have asked you to – ”

“Yes,” Alistair said darkly. “You should. I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He looked into the embers and crossed his arms again. “I still don’t know what to make of it, but I…I understand it.” Eideann glanced to Cailan, and then she turned to check the tent flap was closed before setting her sword down beside Maric’s. Cailan watched as she came around towards Alistair, nudging his side and twining their arms together, setting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“I don’t want to do this without you. Not ever,” she told him quietly. “I can’t.” She pressed her lips into a thin line a moment, then shook her head, sighing. “When I ran away from that Tournament, and ran into you, you helped me, even though it could have cost you everything. You gave up everything in an instant, just because it was what I wanted. And then…then you let me take even more from you that day. And I wanted you, more than anything, ever, because you were the boy who wanted me. The real me. Not the Teyrn’s daughter. You told me I was the most incredible girl you’d ever met. And you said thank you.” She smiled slightly against his shoulder. “I have to give everything I am to Ferelden, but I can’t do it alone. I want you by my side, my Knight.” She looked up, and he gazed down on her, meeting her rainy eyes. They shone with an intensity he recognized. But her smile slipped. “I was so scared for you today…” she breathed. “ I thought…after hearing about Highever…what if I lose you as well? I can’t…I can’t lose you. Either of you. Not now. Not ever.” And he turned then, taking her face in both his hands and kissing her deeply. So deeply it made all the feelings of irritation and fear drain away into nothing, until only his catching breath was left. 

When he broke away from her, lifting his head, her lips were swollen with the kiss, and she bit at the bottom one a moment, gazing into his eyes. Her breast was rising and falling with each breath, and her eyes smoldered, as dark as the embers beside them. 

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to,” she breathed. He remembered Cailan then, and wet his lips, glancing back. 

“But…”

“For fuck’s sake, Alistair,” Cailan muttered, rolling his eyes and putting up a hand like an invitation. “Go forth and be merry or whatever it is you want to hear.” Alistair’s eyes narrowed and he was about to make some snide remark back, but then Eideann took his hand in hers, and then reached for Cailan’s hand as well.

“Come, my Princes,” she said softly, beckoning for them both and stepping carefully backwards around the brazier towards the King’s bed.

Alistair let her lead him, but he glanced back to make sure Cailan was coming as well. Cailan gave him a small smirk at his hesitation, and Alistair blushed a little, but then parted the curtains and stepped into the semi-darkness of the King’s living space. 

Eideann pulled him down with her onto the bed, into another deep kiss, and he could taste the need in her. It surprised him a little, until he felt it rising through his own body. Her embrace welcomed him as he crawled over her, kissing her into the pillows and blankets and gathering her into his arms. 

Maker, he wanted her. Every second of every day.

He felt Cailan join them gently, mindful of his injury, and Alistair broke the kiss to glance up. Cailan just nodded to him, like he was giving permission or something else equally ridiculous, and carefully laid back against his pillows, letting his hand tangle with Eideann’s atop the blankets. 

_You are Maric’s son._

Eideann’s other hand pulled at his tunic until it was loose enough to come free, and then she was shedding his clothes one-handed, desperate and determined. He gave a soft laugh, trailing his mouth down her neck as she arched against him, moaning. Maker, that was all for him. That was _his_ doing.

 _I want her._

His fingers found the lacing of her bodice, and he tore the knot free, unweaving the laces until it came apart in his hands. And then he was pushing her tunic up too. Cailan managed to get rid of that as it came free, and Alistair shed her trousers with as much ease. Alistair sat back, panting, to look at her then, and she lay under his gaze, panting herself. Cailan’s hands traced soft circles against her arm and Eideann gave a gentle smile, a little shy to be under their inspection. 

Alistair took his time then, exploring in ways he had wanted to the other two times, his hands sliding slowly up along her thighs and over her hips, up the planes of her stomach. Muscles lay there, toned from the practice yard. His fingers traced her breasts, soft and full beneath his hands, and she twisted slightly under his touches, partially closing her eyes as her lips parted. 

He brought his fingers up to those lips then, running across them, feeling their fullness, and then he gently stroked down her short hair until she was catching his hand in her free one and kissing the inside of his wrist. 

“You’re too sweet,” she murmured to him, smiling, and he gave a soft laugh.

“One of us has to be,” he replied quietly, a little surprised at the depth of his voice. And then she sat up a little, rising to catch him in another deep kiss before adjusting into the crook of Cailan’s arm so he would not be left out.

But Alistair was not done exploring. He had hardly had the chance. He remembered all the folds of her flesh, and gently ran his hand back down over her hips towards the core of her. Cailan gave a low groan as Eideann’s hands crept over his own skin, mindful of his injury, and then a throaty chuckle as Eideann arched suddenly when Alistair’s hands found her center. 

It was slick, wet on his fingers. He was careful about touching, wary, but she seemed to like his barely-there caresses, and rocked up against him a little. She parted for him easily, and he carefully tested the depths of her, gentle and hesitating every step of the way, until finally his fingers would go no further, and she was rocking into his hand all the more now, soft sounds escaping her. Cailan turned his head, tangling his fingers into her hair, to silence those moans in a deep kiss. Alistair gave a soft groan himself to see the way she surrendered to it, and he gently drew back before adding another finger. And this time she arched a little, breaking the kiss and panting with a soft laugh.

“Learning,” she said, breathless, glancing to him. 

“Maybe,” he replied quietly. She grinned, then pushed herself up, pushing him away carefully before turning her back to him. Alistair had never made love to her from behind before. Suddenly he felt his cheeks heat again. But then she was pushing against him, all the way up, and he needed to be out of his trousers. She pushed against them with her hands at his hips, until he bent to undo the laces and free himself from the constricting space. And the resulting freedom made him moan against her. He buried his face in her neck, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her, and then let his hands slip down over her hips again. 

She bent to pull Cailan’s trousers away, and he was as hard as Alistair was. And then she went to kiss him, down there, as she had done with him the night before. And Alistair groaned at the look on Cailan’s face as she caught him in her mouth and set to work. 

His brother lay back, groaning, his hand locked with hers. Alistair watched a moment, panting, before Cailan opened his eyes and met Alistair’s in the darkness. And then Cailan nodded.

“Do it,” he said quietly, and Alistair caught his breath a moment before moving between Eideann’s legs. 

Sinking into her was like coming home. She was so hot and warm, fire within and without. And she moaned, pushing back against him, helping him, until he was buried inside her, and aching and a little dizzy. He hand to steady himself with a hand on her hip, and paused a moment to focus before she pushed back against him again.

And then he moved. And thought he was going to die. 

He saw Cailan’s face constrict and watched as the King came. And Eideann took it all in in a way that made Alistair groan. Maker…

“I…can’t…” he managed to get out as she pushed back against him, tight and hot about him, a sheath of velvet and fire. And then he actually couldn’t. And he came, hard, harder than he could remember ever coming before, and bent over her, still buried within her, to struggle to breathe again.

For a moment he couldn’t. He just had to stay there. And then, finally, he managed to move, to give her the chance to escape his weight. She pulled him up with her, snuggling back into the crook of Cailan’s arm and rolling onto her back. And then she gathered him in her own arms and gently stroked down his hair with soft fingers, her breathing soft and quiet in the cool air. 

Cailan gave a low groan, running a hand tenderly over his injury, and then turned his head to nuzzle Eideann’s hair. She gave a soft laugh and turned to kiss him softly. Alistair watched it with a barely conscious look, feeling the rhythm of her fingers in his hair and listening to the sound of her heartbeat. And then he gave a soft sigh.

“Fine,” he finally said, pushing himself up and bundling her into his arms, his hand catching Cailan’s where it lay beneath her. “You can marry him.” Cailan gave a tired laugh, which once again became a groan of pain at his injury, and Eideann turned to kiss Alistair’s nose softly.

“Thank you, my Prince,” she said quietly, a gentle whisper, and he nuzzled into her in response only a moment before carefully extricating himself from their pile and reaching for his clothes with a tired sigh.

“Sleep,” he told her when he caught her watching. “I’ll take first watch.” She smiled slightly, then nodded, and turned back into Cailan. Alistair pulled his tunic over his head and then bent to tuck Eideann and Cailan in under the covers before slipping back into the rest of the tent. He took up a position near the brazier where the embers burned low and glowed a deep red. And he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, before smiling slightly. 

So be it. Maybe in a marriage there could be room for three. And if anyone deserved to be a Queen, it was the Flame of Highever.


	9. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan has a gift for Alistair; Eideann and Cailan face down Loghain; Eideann and Alistair steal a moment on the battlements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex (entirely accidental this time, I swear)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

He woke to Eideann nestled into the bedding beside him, and for a moment he was not at Ostagar preparing to face a horde of darkspawn led by an Archdemon. Instead he was back home, warm and safe in bed with his Queen, and he never wanted that daydream to end.

And then he remembered that Anora was his Queen, and that Eideann Cousland was trying to win him a war, and they still had to face down the accusations that would be hurled her way now he had told them all she was his Mistress. He drew a slow, calming breath, staring up at the gold canvas of the tent above his head, and ground his teeth a little as he thought. 

At the very least, they would have to face Loghain.

The man’s wrath would be insurmountable. And the vitriol he would launch at Eideann, the day after news came that she was the last Cousland…

Motivated by that thought alone, Cailan pushed himself up and set about dressing, his eyes set like silver. He would handle Loghain. 

Alistair was still there in his tent, sleeping on the cot that lined one of the walls on the other side of the curtain. But when Cailan emerged from the back of the tent, shirtless, he stirred, hand going to the hilt of Maric’s sword, and he sat up a little before realizing there was no danger. Cailan looked him over with a small smirk, but it was full of fond affection for his mussed hair and bleary gaze. 

“Come on,” he said lightly, quietly, beckoning to his little brother. “Time to get up and find some breakfast.” Alistair rose, yanking his tunic straight and readjusting the sash that held it closed, and then considered Cailan.

“You need to change those,” he said, motioning to the bloodied bandages about Cailan’s torso.

“Later,” the King said dismissively. “For now I’ll throw something on to hide it.” The look on Alistair’s face said volumes. Cailan gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t often hide my injuries,” he assured him, and Alistair nodded. 

Cailan pulled a dark tunic from his trunk and pulled it on carefully, wincing as he stretched his wounded torso. Alistair was watching him warily, but Cailan nudged his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Stop staring at me like I’m a hurt little animal. I’ll be fine.” Alistair shook his head in return.

“No, that was my fault, for running off…”

“Maker’s breath, this again?” Cailan sighed, running a hand over his head to smooth his hair. “It isn’t like you had no reason to go running off to think. And I didn’t have to throw you the sword.”

“Speaking of…” Alistair held it out and Cailan considered it a moment before sighing. 

“No,” he said softly, pushing it back into Alistair’s hand. “Father once said it could repel the Blight. I have a feeling you’ll be needing it more than I.” The runes on the blade sparkled. Alistair stared a moment, then looked up, concerned.

“But then what will you use?” he asked, and Cailan glanced towards Alistair’s blade before nodding to it. Alistair glanced at it a moment, a simple silverite sword, Warden issued, and then looked up. 

“I…” 

“Unless you’re attached to it?” Cailan asked quietly. Alistair shook his head, then grasped it where it lay propped against his cot before turning it over in his hand and holding it out. 

“Take it. I hope it serves you as well as it has me.” Cailan tested the weight, then gave a small smirk, nodding.

“It’s got good balance,” he said, and then carefully slipped it from the sheathe a moment before sliding it home. “And it shines.” He hefted the scabbard and looked back to Alistair. “Thank you.” Alistair cleared his throat, then gave a soft cough, looking away.

“I…err…I’ll find some breakfast,” he finally said, moving towards the door, this time taking his sword and shield with him. Cailan smiled.

“And some flowers for the lady if you see any.” Alistair glanced back, raising an eyebrow.

“Around here?” he said skeptically. “Even if I did they’d probably be poisonous.” He gave Cailan a small smirk. “Actually, she’d probably find that funny, wouldn’t she?” And then he turned and slipped through the tent flaps. 

Cailan set down the Warden sword against the table and sank into a seat in the folding chair left out from the night before. He considered the map before him, and then chewed his lip a moment, crossing his arms and leaning onto the table to peer at the outlines of buildings and topographical features, trying to think like Loghain thought, or even like Eideann thought.

He did not hear her rise, but he did feel as her hands slipped over his shoulders and she bent to set her head atop his own. He glanced up, and she kissed the top of his hair before moving one arm to trace a line across the map.

“That’s where we’ll want to hold our defense,” she said softly, eyes wide and bright and calm. She pointed a few more spots on the map out to him and sighed. “If we post our flanks here and here, we can snare them on both ends. The current information appears to suggest the darkspawn will emerge from the valley near here, and that is where we must meet them first to draw them closer. I’ve sent a few of my shock troops to clash with them and draw them in. They’re the best we have on this terrain.” She pulled back a little, but he reached up to catch her hand. 

She was wearing his scarlet robe from the day before, having simply found it first, and the sleeves were too long for her, falling over her fingers. He had to resist the overwhelming urge to bundle her back up and carry her to the bed and take her all over again in a proper good morning. 

Instead he settled on kissing her hand softly.

“Lady Eideann,” he said quietly. “I trust you slept well.” She gave him a sultry sort of smile, quiet and gentle, and simply pulled her hand away. 

“CAILAN!” Cailan glanced to the tent flaps moments before they were torn back, and Teyrn Loghain stalked through, armor gleaming, eyes flashing with a dangerous rage Cailan recognized immediately. He quietly rose, and he did not dare look back, but he could feel Eideann’s solid presence near his shoulder, like even by being in the room she could ground them all to some semblance of order. “Shall I tell you - !?” He froze and his cold eyes turned on Eideann with disgust. “I see it’s true.”

“Loghain,” Eideann greeted with a cool tone, skipping all formalities given they were now equals. He sneered.

“Court Harlot,” he replied. “You look…decidedly more dressed than I was expecting.” His eyes glinted coldly and Eideann gave him a chilly smile.

“Indeed,” was her reply. Cailan put a hand out to quiet her, gentle, and fixed Loghain with a look.

“Is there a reason you thought it appropriate to come bursting into my tent, Loghain, or are you simply here to scream my name and frighten my lady?” Loghain glared at them both, then raised his chin. 

“What is that bastard doing with Maric’s sword.”

“It’s his birthright,” Cailan said darkly. “He has it because I gave it to him.” Loghain shook his head.

“Whores and bastards…is this the company you keep?” he said in a low hiss. “Give me one good reason not to turn my forces away right now.”

“I am your King,” Cailan said in a very low, very dangerous voice. “And your daughter is my Queen. And I will have your obedience or I will have your head, Loghain.” He let that stand between them a moment, silent and still, and Loghain’s lips twisted a little like he wanted to respond. But then he simply gave a very slight bow of head, looking away.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured with distaste, and Cailan sighed. 

“General Loghain, I expect to hear news from the Wardens today about the progress of the horde. Do we have a location for the beacon yet?” he asked, shifting gears.

“I have…a tower in mind,” Loghain said slowly. Cailan nodded, and then reached without looking to catch Eideann’s hand and kiss it gently, there for Loghain to see. 

“Good. I wish to see it. I expect you to begin preparations. We shall come for an inspection shortly once I have had the opportunity to meet with the Warden-Commander.” He glanced to Eideann then. “If you don’t mind accompanying us for the inspection, my dear?” 

“The harlot stays here.” Loghain’s voice was like ice.

“Call her that again,” Cailan said coldly in return, “and you will have to face me, Loghain.” 

“No, go without me,” Eideann said simply. And then her eyes flickered to Loghain. “It’s clear the Teyrn is not pleased with the idea of my company, and I would hate to ruin the day he seems to be having.” Loghain sneered at her and Cailan glared him down until finally Loghain sighed.

“Half an hour,” he said curtly. “I will not wait longer.” Cailan nodded and then waved him away. Eideann watched him as he turned, stalking out, and then her smile slipped and she drew a few deep breaths, staring at the tent flaps. She felt Cailan’s hand on her own and carefully pulled it away, and then she turned away from him as well, gritting her teeth, and bending for her things. 

“Eideann…” Cailan said quietly, but she simply held up a hand to silence him.

“Let him think he has this moment. When he makes his move, I will be ready to counter him. If he does not think me a threat, he will not see me coming,” she said, her voice fierce and cold. And then she slipped back through the curtain to dress. Cailan gazed after her a moment before sighing and sinking back into a seat, closing his eyes a moment.

It was quiet for a few heartbeats before the tent flaps parted again.

“Break – ” Alistair paused, considering Cailan and then narrowing his gaze, setting down the iron plate of bread and cold salted pork and apples for three. “-fast…What’s happened?” 

“Alistair.” Eideann, working the lacing up on her bodice, emerged from behind the curtain, and Cailan looked up in time with Alistair. “Teyrn Loghain has chosen a tower for the beacon. I need you to accompany us to the tower itself.”

“You said you were staying,” Cailan said, glancing between them. Eideann looked to Cailan and gave him a slightly amused smile.

“No. I said I wouldn’t go with the Teyrn. Alistair and I will see where he takes you and then check the defenses ourselves. I want Alistair to know the layout of that tower before the battle anyway, and this gives us the chance to check into something.” Alistair gave her a nod, then glanced to Cailan.

“Duncan was looking for you,” he said grimly. “He was hoping he might be able to speak to you about the horde.” Cailan sighed, then nodded, rising. 

“So be it. That’s my morning,” he muttered, and then collected Alistair’s sword, striding out without his armor into the cold, thin air. Alistair considered his back and then looked to Eideann who was reaching for her cloak.

“What do you need to check?” he asked quietly. Eideann gave him a small sigh.

“Just…something I heard about Teyrn Loghain digging a few tunnels.” Alistair watched a little bit of that usual fire flash in her eyes as she strapped on her swords. Her eyes caught his own, fierce and determined, and sparkling with adventure. “Come. Let’s see what traps the Teyrn is laying now.” 

***

Mostly he just couldn’t stop thinking about being buried inside her, or the soft moans she made. He had hardly seen her out of that tent, so it was a new experience to be walking along beside her, feeling her entire presence imbuing the sort of power that he wished he gave off by existing. People turned their heads when she walked past, and not because of Cailan’s rumor-spreading. These were the common soldiers, half of them Highever men, who bent the knee as she passed or gave her soldier’s bows, and murmured her name. 

“For Highever,” they said, or, “Your Ladyship.” Only one dared called her the King’s Mistress, a mere whisper, and that was quickly hushed by the others. She commanded enough respect even that rumor had not lost her the support of the common folk of Ferelden. What did a layman care who slept with who. Perhaps they all just saw what he did: a woman so incredible that _of course_ the King himself would want her badly enough to take her to his bed. _Of course_ the King himself loved her, because who wouldn’t? 

Or perhaps he was biased. She had earned her reputation over years of hard work and toil, and the Couslands were known for that dedicated to duty and Ferelden. They probably respected that when their fields burned or their coasts were ravaged by Raiders, the Couslands rode forth and dealt with the problem where many lords refused to do so. The Couslands kept their promises, and Eideann was doing that even now. 

And if half of them were vassals of Highever, they knew as well she had chosen to stay instead of go north, for Ferelden’s sake.

It made him a little glad to see them so determined to be loyal, even with the rumors circulating. Whether the nobles stayed true, he did not know. He figured about nobles things always were a bit more complicated.

She did not pay them any mind. She walked with purpose along the battlements, and he was almost struggling to keep up with her strides. And then suddenly they were in the eastern section of the ruins, and Loghain’s guards were barely visible up on the terraces near the tallest tower. Eideann tipped her head back to look at it, and then she smirked a little.

“Arrogant son of a – ” She paused and then sighed and instead crossed her arms. “We’ll have to wait until they come out again, unless…” she glanced back over her shoulder to the nearly empty lower terraces, and then turned for those.

“Where are we going?” Alistair asked. She motioned for him to follow until at last they were standing overlooking the valley. Alistair’s eyes were dark as he scanned the horizon. She caught him considering the distant Wilds and caught his hand.

“The horde?” she asked. “Wardens can sense them right?” 

“It’s there,” he told her quietly. It felt like a slick, angry, twisting, roiling mass that he could not banish. He wanted to be sick at the very thought of it within his blood. And the whispering.

“Alistair…” The sound of his name called him back and he looked to her, eyes sad a moment.

“Whatever happens,” he told her, “once the fighting starts…stay safe?” She sighed, then nodded.

“I’ll try,” she told him, then pulled a little on his hand and pointed. “Look down there.”

“What…?” He peered down, and then blinked. “What is that?” There were workmen going to and fro from behind one of the towers below, though he could not see exactly what they were up to. 

“I bet anything that’s Loghain’s excavations.” She scowled, then pursed her lips. “Where do you think that goes?” Alistair narrowed his gaze.

“At a guess?” he glanced back towards the massive tower Loghain had chosen as a beacon, and then glanced sidelong to her. She gave a mirthless smirk and sighed.

“We’ll need to do something about that, or the entire tunnel will be flooded with darkspawn when they arrive,” she told him quietly. Then she sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair and glancing to him. “When they come out of the tower, we will go and see if we can’t sabotage it from within,” she murmured. He nodded. And then she looked away, sighing. “About…about last night…”

“I shouldn’t have run off…” he said hurriedly, but she shook her head.

“I meant…are you sure you’ll be alright?” He was quiet a moment, thinking, and then his hand close tight on hers and he looked to her a moment before pulling her back with him along the battlements and into the grasses, damp from the rains and snows. He paused when he was sure they were out of sight of everyone, and met her eyes. Maker, they were just like rain or the sea. He drew a breath.

“Eideann, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he finally said. And she drew a breath, wetting her lips. “And I know that you have to do what you must for Ferelden. And…so does my brother. And I can’t have you for myself…then at least I won’t have to give you up.” He caught both her hands in his then, holding them carefully like she was something that could slip away at any moment if he held her too tightly. “I…this wasn’t how I pictured it being, but I love you. And I won’t let Cailan have you if I can’t be a part of that too.” She considered him, then broke her hands from his and threw her arms about his neck, kissing him hard and deep and desperate, and pulling him back until her back hit the stone wall of the Tevinter ruins and he was pushing against her. “Maker…how do you do that?” he asked, breaking away and gasping. She gave him a confused smile and he gave a soft laugh. “How do you make me want you so badly?” She smiled softly, then reached to cup him through his trousers, bending forward to catch his ear beneath her teeth. 

“How about we have a moment of our own without him?” she murmured, her voice so heated he could hardly breathe. All he could do was groan, and then her fingers found the laces of his trousers and released him. His breath caught as she stroked him gently in careful fingers. He bent his forehead to rest on her shoulder, gasping a soft laugh, and then walked her gently back into the Tevinter wall, pulling at the laces of her own leggings. His fingers worked the knots with frustration, until at last they came free, and he pushed the trousers away. 

She was as desperate as he, stifling her moans in his cloak as he pulled her thigh up about his hips and pressed her back into the wall. He caught her up in his arms and gathered him against her, meeting her eyes in the brief pause between breaths. Then they both of them moaned together as he pushed into her, burying himself deep. Eideann bent her head, wrapping her arms about his neck, and drew his mouth to hers. 

He rocked her back into the wall, needing her more than anything ever before. She held him close to her breast, arms wrapped tightly about him, and bit at her lip to keep from crying out. And then she was shaking in his arms, clinging to him with the force of her pleasure. He groaned and pressed his hands to the wall on either side of her as he came, pinning her against him as his legs threatened to give out. He had to slide away then, letting her take her own weight. Eideann set her back against the stone and tipped her head back, gathering him against her, supporting both their weight. There was the sound of her heavy breathing, and the soft rustle of the grasses, and the warmth of her where he was buried in her arms. Alistair could hear her heartbeat pounding against her chest. He braced himself against the stone tower, and she gave a soft laugh, then bent to catch him in another, softer kiss.

“Maker’s breath, Warden,” she said breathlessly. “We’re meant to be behaving ourselves…” He just gave her a grin, then kissed her, deep and long, pouring everything inside his heart into it. She melted under his touch, until at last he pulled away, and teardrops were standing in the corners of her eyes. He gently reached to wipe one side away with the pad of his thumb and cradle her head in his hand. She caught his wrist, holding his hand there, and he pressed his forehead to hers as sobs broke through her, the grief she was hiding where no one could see. And then she was in his arms, burying her head in his chest, shoulders shaking as she struggled to calm herself. He just stroked her hair.

“I’m here,” he told her in a low murmur. She twisted her head to kiss the inside of his arm and murmur a low thank you, and when she looked up her rainy eyes were flooded with tears, but she was calm again. 

“My Knight,” she whispered. He ran a hand over her hair and then moved to kiss her forehead gently. 

“My Lady,” he whispered back.

For a moment they did not move, either of them, and then she carefully drew away, eyes still on his, and he could see all the way to her soul, all the pain and hurt and loss she had to push back until a private moment. He made a note to let Cailan know Eideann was reaching her limit. She was being strong for his brother as well, he knew. She didn’t need to put up that front with him.

There was the sound of soldiers on the upper terrace and he glanced up, considering before recognizing Cailan and Loghain and some of both of their men. He waited until they had passed before glancing back to Eideann who was carefully lacing him back into his trousers, having already dealt with her own. He watched her, giving a small smile of amusement, and then sighed. 

“Let’s go and see if we can’t do something about those tunnels,” he said gently, and she looked up, tears gone, only a hint of redness to show they had ever been there, and nodded.


	10. Though All Before Me Is Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and Alistair recruit the team to light the beacon after dealing with Loghain's tunnels; Eideann and Cailan go over the plan with Loghain; Eideann and Cailan spend their last few moments together before the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: sex
> 
> Comments always welcome :)
> 
> Thanks again Hopeless for beta'ing this series. :D <3

Eideann clapped her hands together and gave a soft cough at the dust that had filled the chamber. Alistair beside her had turned away, covering his nose, and avoiding the cloud that had surged up as Eideann had dropped her fire bomb into the tunnel. A single glance had been more than enough to tell her this was definitely a plot of Loghain’s. The floor tiles were stacked, and that made her feel particularly irritable. 

As soon as she had seen the gaping hole in the floor, she had sent Alistair running to the mages for one of the enchanters that had not been speaking with Loghain. He had returned with an elderly woman called Wynne, who had a knack for working stone. With her help, they had sealed the hole again, and there was no chance of Loghain’s crew clearing it again before the battle. 

Eideann thanked Wynne, who was standing far enough back that the cloud of dust was not affecting her, and then considered their handiwork. It was not flawless. Given enough time, the darkspawn could yet break through. And yet it was something. There was that at least. If Alistair could get to the top of the tower and light the beacon quickly…

“Wynne,” Eideann asked suddenly, and the elderly mage considered her over scarlet Senior Enchanter robes. “How are you with fire magic?” 

“Good enough, though certainly not the best.” Eideann glanced to Alistair a moment, then nodded.

“During the battle, we will be using this tower as a signaling beacon. We will need a flame large enough to be seen across the field. Could you manage that?” Wynne considered a moment, then nodded.

“I suppose,” the elderly woman said kindly. “Has Teryn Loghain been told of this plan?”

“I will handle him,” Eideann said quietly. “You will be travelling with a handful of my personal guard, Alistair here, and possibly a second Grey Warden. The beacon is vital to the battle. A mage could make all the difference.” Alistair met her gaze and nodded his agreement. Wynne gave a small bow of head.

“Very well, Your Ladyship,” she said simply. “I shall join the signaling group if you can explain it to the Teyrn. He appears to have had different plans for the mages.” 

“Let me handle the Teyrn,” Eideann said again. “This is at the King’s command.” Wynne gave a small smile.

“He reminds me of a puppy,” she admitted, which made Alistair snort a laugh and have to turn away. Wynne blinked, then hurried to explain. “I mean that with the greatest respect and affection,” she added. “He is a fine man.” Eideann simply smiled and gave a small nod, thinking of how eager and quick to the fight Cailan could actually be.

“He is a bit like a puppy,” she agreed, and then sighed, glancing to Alistair. “Come, we must be getting back to the Grey Wardens. I’d like to know if any of the scouts have returned.” 

They walked back with Wynne to the mage encampment, where she went with a pair of Templars into the ring of tents. Then Eideann and Alistair made their way back towards the Grey Warden tents in the King’s camp. 

Cailan was already deep in a meeting with Duncan, and he looked particularly grim as they approached. Duncan looked up, acknowledged Alistair with a nod and Eideann with a bow, and then sighed, looking back to the map on the King’s table. 

“They’ve moved faster than we anticipated,” Duncan said softly.

“But surely not that quickly?” Cailan asked, his eyes sharp points of silver. Alistair’s eyes narrowed as well.

“They aren’t far off. Maybe…a day,” he added his own two cents. “It’s hard to tell.”

“They’re moving quicker than we would over such terrain,” Duncan explained, shaking his head. His eyes fixed on Eideann. “I hope, my Lady, that your troops are prepared.” Eideann nodded, thinking of her Highever shock troops out in the field, and pressed her lips into a thin line. 

“We will meet them, sooner than expected if need be,” she said simply. “And we have a plan for the beacon. We are almost ready, in fact.” Alistair nodded, and Duncan considered them, then sighed.

“Alistair, Grigor will be going with you to the tower, in case the Archdemon should appear. Before the battle, I need a word with you, however. Grey Warden business.” Alistair gave a soldier’s salute to Duncan, suddenly all business, then took his leave of Eideann and Cailan with a small nod to each and a slight smile for her. Duncan considered Eideann and Cailan only a moment longer.

“When the battle comes,” he said quietly, “we must be ready. I have left the precautions to Lady Eideann for watching our backs. I must focus on the darkspawn.” 

“We will hold the valley,” Cailan assured him. “The Blight ends here.” Duncan did not look convinced, but Eideann gave him a look full of fire and strength. 

“The army will hold. And the beacon will light. If anything goes astray, I will be able to deal with the threat directly.” He nodded, then gave them each a bow. 

“Then, I must prepare my Wardens,” he said. “The darkspawn will arrive sometime in the early hours of morning before dawn. You should be prepared, Your Majesty, Your Ladyship.” Eideann nodded, and then Duncan turned away, leaving just the two of them alone.

Cailan considered her, then sighed.

“We’ll have to come up with something to tell Loghain.”

“He was digging tunnels under that tower,” she said quietly, “but we’ve sealed them. I’ve conscripted a mage for the beacon team who can ensure that the fire is lit. The rest will be up to you to stand your ground until my forces reach you, and me to make sure that they actually do.” He grimaced and then nodded, coming around the table. His silver eyes flickered to hers, and narrowed slightly.

“You’ve been crying,” he said suddenly, reading the redness in her gaze.

“It’s nothing,” she told him, turning away, but he shook his head and caught her chin, coaxing her gently to meet his eyes again.

“No, it isn’t nothing. After all that has happened.” She blinked back more tears, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“I can’t, Cailan,” she said softly. “I have to lead an army. I can’t do this now. When it is done…when the Blight is ended…but not yet.” He considered her with quiet understanding. And then he nodded, folding her into his arms, and she closed her eyes a moment, focusing on the scent of him. She tallied up all the ways he was similar to but different from Alistair. And then Cailan pulled back, meeting her rainy gaze with his silver.

“You’re very brave, Lady Eideann,” he told her quietly. “And I admire your strength. Thank you, for all you have done here.” She shook her head.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” she said softly. “All I have done, I have done for Ferelden, and I would do it all again.” He gave a small half-smile. 

“You have done a great deal more than just your duty, Eideann,” he told her, and then sighed, glancing to the doorway. “We will need to speak with Loghain and get the armies moving, but once that is done, we may have a few hours to ourselves, perhaps…” She caught his hand, nodding.

“Yes,” she told him. “I would like that. But after.” 

***

Loghain was not pleased. Cailan could read it in his eyes, practically feel the anger that had settled over him at being gainsaid. Eideann had taken all of his plans and twisted them just enough he could not argue, stolen away his troops and reassigned them in places that arguably were better, and vexed his attempts at every turn. If he was indeed plotting an assassination, she was making it very difficult for him. Cailan was rather glad of that.

She did not mention the tunnels, but he had probably heard by now about the collapse that Alistair and Eideann had worked with the help of their mage. Cailan stood, cupping the pommel of the Warden sword he had traded with Alistair, and considering the charts spread on the large table before him.

Motes of snow and dust hung in the air. He was glad of his thick cloak, though he prayed the weather held through the night. He had no desire to meet darkspawn on a snowy field. 

Loghain stood in his shining armor, shaking his head, arms crossed.

“The idea is a sound one,” Eideann was saying simply. “Rather than a flanking vice, a pincer, in the woods on both sides. A cavalry surge down the valley will repel the first wave.” 

“We’ll hold,” Cailan said simply. And Loghain shook his head again, eyes narrowed.

“This is madness. Following a slip of a girl’s plot against an entire darkspawn horde? And you want to stand down there with them?” Loghain spat. Cailan gave him a flat look.

“Loghain, my decision is final,” he said sharply. “I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.” Loghain glared.

“You risk too much, Cailan. The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

“No reinforcements will make it in time, and our men should see their King fight for what is right,” Cailan insisted, but the pain in his torso was worse now. Loghain stepped forward, ominous and looming.

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan,” he said darkly. “We must attend to _reality_.”

“And the reality is that we are out of time,” Eideann said softly, drawing both their gazes. “The beacon will be lit. I have assembled a group to light it myself.” Loghain shook his head.

“No. I already have a few men stationed there. It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital.” He dared Eideann to contradict him.

“Which is exactly why my team will be the ones going, light and fast and capable, accompanied by a Senior Enchanter and two Grey Wardens. That beacon will be visible from anywhere on the battlefield. When it lights, the Archdemon may fly straight for it. I won’t trust this to a handful of random soldiers,” Eideann said frankly, crossing her arms. Loghain sneered at her.

“What makes you such an authority on such matters?” he demanded, and she smiled, but there was none of the usual warmth in it.

“My mother sank her first Orlesian cutter when she was fifteen, Loghain, and my father was one of the few to survive the Battle of White River. I have proven myself time and again to be a capable ranger and fighter, and I won the right to command half of the army stationed here. This is, after all, your plan. I have merely improved upon it.” He could hardly change the plan now, seeing as she had just given him all the credit for it, so he sniffed and looked away.

“So be it. You will be standing by the King then, ready to lift your skirts should he need something?” the Teyrn snapped. She simply gave a soft laugh.

“No, Your Lordship. I will be riding on the flank with you.”

“No.” Loghain’s voice was like a knife cutting through the tension. Cailan blinked.

“You’ll be where?” he asked softly, double-checking he had understood. She had said she was going to be in a position to end any treachery immediately, but he had not quite thought that part through. 

“On the flank. Commander Bradach will man the other flank. I will accompany the Teyrn on the closer side. We’ll hit the darkspawn first, so we’ll want to lead the men in a charge down into the valley the moment we see that signal.” 

“You could be on the other flank,” Loghain said shortly. Eideann shook her head.

“If I am truly as inexperienced as you believe, it’s best I am right where you can watch over me, don’t you think?” she said flatly, and there was a challenge in her eyes.

Cailan felt his heart sink a little. She was positioning herself for a direct confrontation. And he could not even think of a decent reason to stop her.

 _She knows what she is doing,_ he thought, forcing himself to believe it. _She has everything under control, my Queen of Swords._

“So be it,” he finally said. Loghain grimaced, then finally sighed.

“The plan will suffice,” he replied flatly, obviously unhappy with all the alterations. Eideann swept him a mocking sort of bow. He just turned his back on her and stalked off. Eideann sighed, then glanced to Cailan who shook his head.

“Are you certain you will be alright with him?” he asked. “You’re in danger as well.”

“Let him try me,” she said in her dangerously low voice. “I will meet his pride with Cousland duty if I must. Someone needs to watch him, and no one but you or I has the authority to take his head should things go wrong.” He sighed, knowing that much was true, and then beckoned to her. 

“Come,” he murmured as she took his arm. “I want to spend what time we have before all this alone.” She smiled slightly and then nodded. 

There was no sign of Alistair back at the tent, though a servant had left them some dinner, a sweet-smelling rabbit stew and a loaf of simple bread with some thin ale. Cailan considered it a moment, but Eideann’s eyes lit up and she grinned.

“They make this back home,” she said with joy, and then her eyes went sad a little and the sparkle was lost. She picked up one of the bowls and drank a little, since they had no spoons. And then she set it down and reached to tear the loaf of bread in half. Cailan watched her a moment, then took a seat on the folding stool and she sank into her own seat across from him.

For a moment it was almost like a proper dinner between a couple, and he had that familiar wash of nostalgia. How many years could have been like this? He suddenly felt a little old.

The stew was something else, rustic and tinged with a bit of salt, made from fresh Fereldan herbs that grew right there in the Wilds. And then he noticed what lay on the table alongside the small jug of ale, and grinned.

“Alistair,” he said softly, and nodded to it. A rose, petals red like blood, thorns and all. Eideann blinked, then smiled slightly and gathered it up. Her blue ribbon favor from all those years ago was tied about the stem, and she smiled before shaking her head.

“He’s too sweet,” she said softly, then looked up to him. “This…marriage…” Cailan met her eyes, and she sighed. “Are you certain you’ll be happy with this?”

“I’ve never not been happy with you, even when you’re telling me I’m wrong or being insulting or a fool,” he replied with a small smile. “This marriage is for Ferelden, but I won’t lie and say I do not want it for myself as well, though I know that was not the reason you chose to accept.” She simply shook her head.

“I mean…with Alistair.”

“Yes.” She looked up, surprised at the quick reply, and he nodded, his eyes serious. “He’s madly in love with you,” he told her, glancing to the rose and smiling ever so slightly. “I couldn’t take you away from him if I tried. I don’t want to try. I want you both to be happy as well. And you know the other reasons.” He bent to pour them both some of the thin ale, and then he sipped at it, watching her as she tore the bread again and dunked some in her stew. 

“I used to imagine I’d be a Knight,” she told him then, quietly. “I used to think I’d tilt in the lists, or lead soldiers into war. It drove my mother insane. She was always trying to marry me off to someone or other, making matches for the good of Ferelden, she used to say.” She sighed. “Seems I’ve done just that after all.” But when she looked up, her gaze was soft and warm. “I’m glad it was something I could have for myself as well.” He grinned and reached for her hand, brushing his fingers over it gently.

“There is no one in the world who should be the Queen of Ferelden more than you,” he said softly. “There is no one I would rather have at my side telling me everything I’m doing wrong and knocking common sense into visiting dignitaries and appearing imposing to guests of the court.” She lowered her gaze then, smiling a little at the compliments, shy. “Have I told you,” he said softly, “how very amazing you are?” She gave a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Enough flattery!” she told him, eyes clear and bright. “Enough, lest it all go to my head.” His smile slipped a little and he shook his head.

“No. I may not get another chance to say it, so I must do so now,” he told her softly. “I should have wed you five years ago. Alistair and I...” he paused a moment, meeting her gaze. “I know that was the first time, Eideann.” She blinked, her cheeks flushing just a little, and he shook his head. “I should have done what any decent man would have done and wed you, damn the consequences.”

“We were all a little foolish then,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze. “I did not realize you knew.” 

“Alistair doesn’t know,” Cailan said softly. “It isn’t my place to tell him either. But for my sake, and for his, I wanted to say thank you, Lady Eideann, for that gift, and for every one you have given us since.” She simply sipped at her ale in silence and her gaze flickered up to his, heated and fierce again. Cailan met it, then returned to his dinner, feeling a rush of warmth. 

He downed the last of his ale in one go, setting down the mug and then looking up to her, and he caught her considering him with those beautiful eyes. He sighed, caught in the familiar warmth of desire, and then wet his lips, rising, leaving the last of his stew untouched. He reached for her hand then, and she took it carefully, still holding Alistair’s rose in her other hand. He lead her gently around the table, catching her in a soft kiss.

“One more time?” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Just in case…” And she nodded. He smiled, sweeping her up into his arms, rose still in her hands, and carried her back to the back of the tent to lay her atop the blankets. 

He took his time then, carefully shedding his tunic, wary of his wounded torso. And he teased her own clothes off as well, stripping them one by one, running kisses over every inch of exposed flesh as she giggled and tipped her head back and gasped soft breaths into the cool air. 

She tasted like fire, hot and powerful, and he drank her scent in, closing his eyes until there was only the two of them.

Two. 

He smiled slightly and then pushed himself up to kiss her mouth until she moaned. And then he met her gaze.

“Eideann,” he breathed, and she wrapped her legs about his hips. He sank into her, feeling the heat of her so warm it was almost unbearable, and she was tight and wet and waiting. And he groaned.

She smiled against his mouth, kissing him softly in return.

“Eideann,” he breathed again, “I think I love you.” She gave a soft laugh, tipping her head back and pulling him closer.

And then he was moving, slow and careful, long, languid strokes that brought her near to tears at the intensity of it, and swept his breath clear away. 

And then he could not continue to go so slowly. He wrapped his arms tight about her and coaxed the deep moans from the very core of her, needing this more and more. Maker…

And finally he could not do even that. He came, filling her, and she clung to him, eyes shut tight, lips parted as she felt him finish. She was not quite done, and he knew it, so he kept going as much as he might, until he couldn’t, and she lay back, sated, and quiet. 

He rolled clear of her, wincing at his injury, and then gathered her into his arms, kissing her softly.

“My Queen,” he breathed, and she kissed him.

“My King.” To hear the words from her lips felt like a blessing. He blinked away tears that were standing in his eyes threatening to spill, and closed his eyes instead, nuzzling into her and kissing her hair.

He had no idea how long they lay there, silent and quiet, listening onto to the sound of their breathing back and forth. 

But slowly the light faded, and darkness fell, and at last their final moments came, drifting in and out of existence like the motes of snow that threatened to blanket the battlefield. 

A soft cough came at the tent flap, a very gentle disturbance, and Cailan sighed as Eideann carefully pushed herself up to sitting. 

“Your Majesty, Your Ladyship,” a soft voice called, and Cailan sighed, bowing his head a little. Eideann’s eyes met his in the darkness, and her hand found his. Beside them her rose lay, delicate and fragile and tied with blue ribbon. “It’s time.”


	11. The Light to Guide the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan meets the darkspawn on the front lines at Ostagar; Eideann and Loghain have a heated discussion; Alistair goes to light the beacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

Cailan shifted in his armor, flexing his hand about Alistair’s sword, the Theirin shield of beaten gold at his back. He stood before the assembled forces of the primary line, seeing them standing in ranks all the way up the valley below the bridge. A quick glance up told him that Bann Alfstanna Eremon had lined the battlements with archers and what remaining ballistas they had were poised on the bridge. A few of the mages were established high above, their robes bright even in the darkness of the torches. 

Cailan felt the rain on his face, this again, and the wind pulling through his tangled hair, and grimaced. 

Duncan stood not far away atop the first of the barricades, peering into the darkness. About him, mixed into the first line, were the other Wardens, all save Alistair and the Constable of the Grey Grigor who were up atop the eastern ruins to light the beacon. The Warden-Commander seemed on edge. Cailan drew close to his side.

“All is prepared,” he said simply, and Duncan nodded. 

“It will come tonight.” That sent a shiver down his spine, and his silver gaze tracked to the trees where he knew his Teyrns and the remaining parts of his force were waiting. He gritted his teeth, nodding to himself, and turned back to where Chantry Sisters were blessing his forces for the upcoming battle. He could see the fear on their face, but the Highever troops stood firm. A few of them caught his gaze, and one gave a solemn nod. 

The Ash Warriors stood at the first line, one hand on their mabari, the other wielding cudgels and axes. They reeked of kaddis in the night, but Cailan knew full well the strength of those men and beasts in a fight. He twisted his sword into a better grip, and drew a breath.

There, in the darkness, they heard it, over the sound of the howling wind and pouring rain. Thousands of grunts and unearthly roars, catching on the breeze and drawing closer to the army. And then they could see the flames back in the trees.

“Archers!” Cailan called, raising his sword. And he heard the hush of bowstrings drawing back in preparation.

The darkspawn lined the field, monstrous and warped, open-mawed creatures thirsting for blood there at the beckoning of a twisted Old God. 

“Maker,” Cailan murmured, “give me strength.” 

And then they charged, the darkspawn, pouring down into the valley, a chorus on wild shrieks and screams. Some appeared from nowhere, flickering in and out of sight. Others lumbered forward, three times the size of a man.

_Hold your ground for the signal. If this is to work, we must hold._

And then he let his blade fall.

Arrows arched high overhead, setting the grasses alight and illuminating the vast force in the way. The ballistas rocketed forward, smashing against the Tevinter walls and casting bolts far and wide into the belly of the horde. Rocks hurled overhead, some from the mages that stood atop the battlements and others from the giant darkspawn that threw them back, wreaking havoc in the ruins high above. Other areas burst into flame as the mages cast everything they had at the beasts.

“Hounds!” Cailan called, and they went speeding in, all the violence of war-trained mabari, tearing down the line of darkspawn. And then the King grimaced. Not enough.

“Soldiers!” he called, looking back at his nervous troops. “For Ferelden! Charge!” He leaped from the barricade, leading them himself, roaring a wordless battle cry across the field.

His troops clashed, slamming into the darkspawn line, and the entire world stank of blood and Blight.

_Now, Alistair. Now…_

***

Eideann grimaced, her horse dancing a little beneath her, eyes on the beacon high above. Behind her, the bulk of the army stood, some cavalry but mostly infantry, waiting with her. And at her side, a good two paces away as if proximity would mean submission, was Teyrn Loghain.

Eideann did not dare look at him, though she could feel his sharp eyes on her, like he was trying to understand her, trying to puzzle her out. In the silence of the deep woods, where only the hushed echoes of the swamp were audible, she could tell he was dying to speak. 

She heard the sound of hooves on the wet earth and glanced up then to find he had drawn alongside her.

“So,” he said, his voice cold, “what will you do when he tires of you?” She looked away towards the battlefield and smiled ever so slightly.

“What will you do if he does not?” she asked him quietly. Loghain’s hands were harsh on the reins of his warhorse.

“Think how quickly he has betrayed his wife, beloved of the people. Do you really think he can put her aside and treat with you? You’ll be a whore forever, _Lady_ Cousland.” She did not directly reply, instead letting her mount skip a few steps. 

“Tell me, Your Lordship, do you hate him because he is King Maric’s son or because he is Queen Rowan’s?” Her eyes were like pools of darkness as she looked to him, and he met them with a cold gaze full of hate. 

“You have no right to speak her name, after all she gave for Ferelden,” he said in a low voice, and Eideann pursed her lips, lowering her chin a little.

“Ah, I see,” she said softly.

“Cailan and Anora are the backbone of Ferelden. If you think you can break that – ”

“Ferelden is the backbone of Ferelden.” Her voice was sharp and cold in return then. “And I am a Teyrna. I would give everything of myself for Ferelden.” He gave a sneer and a laugh.

“You don’t even know what that means, foolish child. You and he are just here to play at war. You think you understand. You think you know.” 

“And you think you are always right. You think we cannot know. You think that the peace you and Maric brought has made this new generation soft.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “I think you are wrong.” She looked away, back towards their path once the beacon was lit. “Take for instance Rendon Howe. By the time I am done with him he will have paid in blood for every Highever life he has stolen. I will hang his head above the gates for everyone to see. I do not tolerate traitors.” She sniffed. “I know better than anyone that duty is bitter and cruel. And I know it is our obligation as nobility to do that duty. We do not matter. Our lives, our reputations, do not matter. Ferelden matters, and all the people within it. Compared to that we are the smallest of servants, Teyrns most of all.” Her eyes met his, glinting cruelly in the darkness. 

“You talk pretty, just like your father always did, of duty and honor and necessity,” Loghain spat. “Look where it has gotten him now, dead in his own house. And look where it has gotten you, selling your flesh to a King who won’t have you. When his bastard is growing inside you, remember you were warned, and think of what Cousland honor means then.” She gave a soft, clear laugh.

“What makes you think honor means anything at all, Teyrn Loghain? Those who believe that their lives are the greatest things they can give up for their King are cowards and fools. Try losing everything – your loved ones, your dignity, your right to justice, your peace of mind, your home, your future – and you shall see, all we have is duty and necessity.” He sneered at her.

“So letting the King have his way with you is just a duty for you?” 

“Some duties are not so unpleasant, my Lord,” she told him simply. “I would rather give him a dozen Cousland-Theirin bastards than wed him and give him no legitimate Theirin heirs. Even a bastard can claim an empty seat.” It took him aback a moment, but then he scoffed.

“Cailan has a Queen. He will never marry you.” He said it with such force it was like he was trying to convince himself.

“And Anora will never be Queen alone,” she replied softly. And with that she glanced up to the tower, eyes cold.

_Come on, Alistair. Put up the signal. Or there will be no King left to save._

***

He could sense the Nothingness, the Void that was the Archdemon deep in the depths of the horde somewhere, and panicked. His heart was racing, his thoughts scattered, and somewhere he knew he had to reach the Tower of Ishal, had to light the beacon, or everyone would die.

 _A Grey Warden is not an empty soulless vessel,_ he heard the mantra in his head. _The Grey Warden who brings down the Archdemon dies._

He remembered Duncan telling him that task was not for him, but they could not afford a loss. It may yet be his fate to die in that battle so that his brother, the army, and Eideann could live. 

_Eideann._ He forced himself onward for her sake, dodging the boulders that pummeled the bridge, and racing after Grigor. 

Wynne was ahead, surrounded by a few of Eideann’s best Highever scouts. They were a party made for mobility. But that did not mean their task would be easy. They had to reach the Tower first and Eideann had been adamant when they had cleared the threat of the tunnels that Loghain would find a different way to strike at them.

He thought of that morning, of soft flesh and sweet kisses, of the desperation in her eyes, and prayed to the Maker to save her. 

_Just let Eideann live._

The Tower loomed high overhead, and he bore the stinging rain long enough to glance up to it. It was illuminated by lightning that came crashing through the sky, foreboding and dark above them. And somewhere out there, somewhere close, the Archdemon was waiting to strike.

_I don’t want to die._

“Get a move on, lad!” came Grigor’s angry call, urging him up the final steps of the bridge into the eastern ruins. “We don’t have all day. The troops down there won’t be able to hold for long. We have to help them!” His battleaxe was in his hand, sparkling silverite and grim determination.

Alistair gripped his father’s sword tight in his hand, the runes along the blade glowing bright in the darkness, and raced on. He had to save them. He had to save her.

He was hurtling through the ruins so quickly, he almost did not notice as one of Eideann’s soldiers crumpled before him. He glanced to her as he ran by, and saw the arrow in her throat, and knew it was no darkspawn weapon that had killed her. He whirled about, and by some stroke of luck managed to block another arrow headed straight for him with the sword in his hand. Serendipity alone had spared him that. He brought up his shield, and Eideann’s other soldiers spun about, a few firing into the darkness where the slight glint of armor betrayed the locations of their attackers.

Grigor took an arrow in the thigh and gave a roar, but Wynne flung up a barrier to block the rest, and bent to rip the shaft free from his leg and pour healing magic into the wound. Alistair hurried to join them, helping Grigor rise, and grimaced.

“The Teyrn’s men.” Wynne looked up, startled.

“Why would Teyrn Loghain’s men attack us?” 

“He plans to betray the King,” Alistair told her as another of Eideann’s scouts went down. “We need cover.” Grigor nodded and hobbled up the Tevinter steps towards the first terrace.

“Go lad. I’ll distract them. You get to the beacon.” Alistair reached for him.

“Don’t be stupid!” he insisted. “We’ll handle them together!” 

Grigor gave him a dark glare, then sighed.

“Obstinate fool,” the Ander grumbled, then pointed. “You take the far ones then. I can’t charge them quick enough.” Alistair nodded, then readied his shield, and they charged together.

It was chaos. Eideann’s scouts whirled in beside them, dual-wielders trained to split a man from head to toe in a wheeling dance. Others peppered them with arrows in the spaces, so close Alistair could feel the wind of each shaft as it thudded past him to sink into flesh. 

Grigor was limping as they finally drew back, Loghain’s first wave of men felled. Alistair gave him a concerned look and the Ander gave him a smirk through his scraggly beard, shaking his head.

“Stop looking at me like a wounded pup, lad,” he said simply. “I’ll be fine.” He forced himself to walk, and Wynne gave them both a dubious look before Grigor pushed past her and continued up. 

“Next wave,” one of Eideann’s scouts said sharply, nocking an arrow. “Now we know they’re here, we can take these ones.” And he and his scouts were off, skimming the darkness, shadows that crept through the night and the rain and the wind. 

There were the sounds of combat above, stifled cries and the sound of bodies falling, and then a soft whistle called them up. Alistair hurried to join them, jaw set, and caught himself wondering if Eideann was able to fight in much the same way. The Coastlanders were rangers, dangerous and fast. He thought of the way she had brought down their attackers the night before with just the bow, slaying more than twice his count, and realized she probably did move with as much efficiency and grace. Quick as wildfire. 

Wynne sighed.

“Sorry to drag you into this,” Alistair told her quietly. “We were not entirely sure how he would attempt to betray us, but we knew it was coming. The less who were aware the better.” He grimaced and took the steps.

The familiar tickle of magic crept over his flesh and he paused, then called for the others.

“Get down!” he shouted as an explosion wracked the square. He shifted into his Templar abilities, lashing out with a smite, and a great cloud erupted where it hit. He felt the magic abruptly stop and hurried up, sword in hand, to make sure it could not start again.

It was one of the Senior Enchanters atop the steps, the bald one he had seen Loghain speaking with earlier that week. He grimaced and leveled his sword at the man.

“Uldred,” Wynne hissed. The man sneered at her, looking down Alistair’s sword.

“Wynne. Always in the way,” he shot back. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” 

“What has he promised you?!” Alistair demanded, nudging him with his sword-point. “What did Loghain promise you?”

“Freedom,” Uldred cackled. “The chance to buck the yoke of the Chantry, forge our own path! And all we have to do is stop you from lighting this beacon.”

Grigor stepped up and swung, and his axe cleaved through the mage, cutting him quite in two. Alistair recoiled a little, glaring up, and Grigor gave him a dark look.

“Listen,” the Ander said darkly. Over the howl of the wind and rain, the sounds of battle floated up from below. “We have to move. Now.” 

Alistair nodded and then strode past the mage, stalking up the steps.

“There may be people inside,” he warned, and then reached for the door. His suspicions were quickly proven correct as the next wave hit them. A few of Eideann’s scouts were engulfed in fire, and it was only Wynne’s shield that saved them. She let that erupt outward, and then followed it with earth of her own, as he had seen her do before. The effect was devastating. Entire chunks of the tower floor were ripped clear and sent hurtling towards Loghain’s men. Eideann’s scouts, all three that remained, loosed arrows into the remaining number. One was bleeding from a head wound, and the other was grimacing through severe burns down one arm. 

Wynne immediately turned to healing as Grigor and Alistair finished off the last of their opponents, but even that was only a stop-gap measure. Alistair grimaced, and the burned scout shook her head.

“Leave us. We’ll guard your back,” she said sharply, leaning back heavily against a wall and hardly daring to look at her injured arm. The one with the head wound sank into a seat and nocked an arrow.

“Captain…go…” Eideann’s scout captain nodded, and then glanced to the Wardens and mage before heading forward, eyes dark and cold.

“For the King,” he said in a voice like ice, and Alistair wondered if that too was a talent learned in the Coastlands. He followed the man through the halls, and together they climbed the steps. 

Behind them, they could hear the grunts and roars of darkspawn that had finally found the tunnel entrance they had blocked as best they could.

“They’ll be through soon,” Grigor grimaced, and Alistair nodded.

“Then we had better hurry. Lady Eideann is waiting on that signal.” 

The other floors were mostly clear. Loghain had not had the opportunity to effectively launch a counter to Eideann’s plan on such short notice. What resistance they did find was mostly in the form of archers, which were easily hindered by Alistair’s shield and Wynne’s barriers and brought down by Eideann’s scout. The man had the grim-faced efficiency of a tracker, alright, the kind who had never not been a ranger. Alistair let him work those strengths, wheeling in and out of range and felling their enemies one by one.

The final chamber had once had stained glass windows, but these had long ago shattered, leaving the empty husk of a long-dead tower in its wake. Alistair pointed to the wood stacked at the center of the tower and glanced to Wynne, who was quick to take his meaning.

“Light it!” he called as she ran for it, fire forming in her hands, and then the beacon was flaring to life, bursting into the signal they desperately needed, and flame rose high towards the shattered window at the very top of the tower. It was like a column of fire itself, shooting high into the sky. Alistair heaved a breath, glancing to Grigor who gave a nod, and then the entire world _shifted_.

A while shrieking cry cut through him, turning his heart to ice, and he had to clamp his hands over his ears to try and block it out. The heavy thud of massive wings drew close, and his heart was pounding as he felt it nearing, Nothingness, the Void, a darkness so absolute it seemed to swallow everything.

And then he felt the jolt as it slammed into the tower, taking off part of the roof and causing the tower itself to shake on its stone foundations. He looked up, to see its cold eyes, peering down on them, and gave a scream. The last thing he knew was Grigor, pulling at his arm, eyes wild.

“Run!” he heard, somewhere in the depths of his soul. “Alistair! RUN!”

***

Eideann saw the beacon light on Teyrn Loghain’s armor, because she was not looking towards the tower at the time. She heard the great shrieking cry and knew that her worst guess had come true. But the beacon was lit. The time was now. She glared at it only a moment, then looked to Loghain.

He met her eyes, his own cold, and then glared towards the source of that horrible shriek that was echoing through the canyons. And then he looked back at his men.

“Orders, Your Lordship?!” his commander asked, a knight called Ser Cauthrien who had her black hair tied back and her armor polished to a shine. “Your Lordship?!” Teyrn Loghain looked to her, then set his jaw, and Eideann heard the words echo through her heart, each a knife in the darkness.

“Sound the retreat.”


	12. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann faces off against Loghain; Cailan is seriously injured; Eideann leads a charge through the darkspawn line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

“Hold.” 

Eideann’s voice was like ice as her swords rang from her sheaths. Loghain’s eyes slid to her and he shook his head.

“I will not send my men to death for a foolish King,” he said coldly. Eideann gave him a solemn stare.

“If we do not meet the horde here, all of Ferelden will fall before the Blight,” she said coldly. “I will not take that risk.” He grinned bitterly.

“You are a child,” he told her, “a foolish little girl. You think Cailan will win? You think the Grey Wardens stand any chance? We are outnumbered here.”

“And we will be outnumbered all the more if we flee now. How many troops do you think remain in Ferelden. We stand here or we all die together.” Loghain’s sword slid from its sheath at his hip and he pointed it at her.

“Ser Cauthrien, the retreat.”

“Make one move and I will have both your heads for treason,” Eideann said. “I had hoped it would not come to this.”

“You? Try me for treason?” Loghain’s eyes were dark, his outrage clear on his face. “Try to stop me, Cousland Whore.” He turned his horse and she nudged hers into its path, and metal met metal in the dim light of the forest as she met his blade.

“Don’t make me,” she spat. “This is your final chance.” Behind her, the army was confused as their Commanders stared one another down in cold blood. 

Eideann grimaced.

“Turn around,” she told him. “Do your duty to your country.” He just laughed, a bitter laugh, and shook his head.

“See all these men killed?” he asked curtly. “What duty is that?” He parried her blow, pushing her blade away, but she brought it up to meet his, and his smile faded. “Move, harlot.” 

“Charge,” Eideann said.

“Move.” The blades rang out again, back and forth and back and forth, as they danced their horses about one another, and then Loghain shook his head, swinging down from the mount and levelling his sword at her. “So be it. We do this the hard way.” Eideann slipped down from her horse too and stepped out, blades before her. “To the death, Lady Cousland.” 

There was no time to say no. She moved. He met her, blades clanging in quick succession as they battered at one another before breaking and circling about for a second meeting. His strength was more than hers, his speed too quick at times. She felt his sword nick her thigh and managed to avoid further injury by the slightest margins by skimming away. Her own blades spun, arcs of light in the darkness, to meet his and then rebound, over and over.

They circled.

Neither of them spoke. There were no words left for them to say to one another. She was a fool and he a traitor and that was all there was between them now.

His blade caught her arm and she winced, twisting aside and then coming up panting in time to block his next attack. His shield batted her off balance and she fell back, but rolled in time to avoid being speared through. At least she did still have her own speed. That was something. He had not been expecting a challenge from her.

She gave a roar and met him again, spinning about to catch his sword hilt with her own, and then danced out of his shield’s path, stepping inside his guard.

He forced her down, his strength overpowering her, into the mud, and she slipped to one knee, blades crossed and all her weight thrown into stopping him from splitting her in two. And then she roared again, this time sliding her blades free, feeling his blade sink into her shoulder, and ripping her left sword up to break his hold on his shield. It went skittering away across the Wilds earth, clattering. And he roared, yanking his sword from her shoulder, covered in her blood. 

She gave a sharp cry of pain, then hacked towards the back of his knees as he went for his shield, catching him there and bringing him down to his knees. She dove after him, pinning him to the earth with one blade through his calf, and he cried out in pain, a dark sound that made the horses rear up. The army was deathly silent, watching the entire thing play out, as their Commanders grappled in the mud.

He tore her sword free, wheeling on her, and met her other blade in the nick of time as it came hurtling down at him. He caught her wrist, launching her over onto her back and then rising up over her, panting, his teeth gritted.

“Die, will you?!” he spat, pinning her down with her knee. She gave a sharp cry as she was pushed further down into the mud, then felt his blade come free from her hand as he hammered on her wrist. She tried to reach for it, but his hands caught at her throat, cutting off her air, and she could not breathe, could not see, could not react. 

She gasped for breath, then struggled instead for her belt, and finally her hand closed on the hilt of her knife.

She brought it up and around, swiping hard across his face and breaking his concentration. The knife drove down, into his hand, sliding all the way through from back to front as he pulled back. And the weapon was wrenched from her hand as he knelt back, roaring to pull it free and turn it then on her.

But it was too late.

Her other hand found his own sword, and she flipped it expertly, catching it and plunging it forward. It speared through him, puncturing chainmail and plate, and the drove it through as hard as she could. She felt it emerge out the back, the metal of the sword grating on the metal of his armor, and then released the blade, falling back on her hands, panting, watching him. He stared at her, then down at the sword, before casting aside her knife and reaching for the hilt in his chest. 

She caught sight of her sword and scrabbled for it, forcing herself to rise muddy and bloodied, to stand over him. And then she leveled the blade at him. 

“The end, Loghain. You’ve lost,” she spat, tasting blood, and he glared at her with dimming eyes.

“There’s some strength in you yet, harlot. Is this what your duty gets you?” She blinked and drew a breath, then wet her lips and then took the hilt of her sword in both hands and swung with all her might. Loghain’s head rolled, and his body fell forward, staining the Wilds mud red with blood. 

She stepped back and bent for her other sword and her knife, then rose to gaze at the army, Ser Cauthrien in particular.

“I told you,” she said fiercely, “to charge.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Ser Cauthrien said, and turned to the others to issue the command as Eideann sheathed one of her swords to swung into her saddle again. 

“For the King!” she roared, and urged the horse on. There would be time to care about the consequences later.

***

Ahead, the dragon was roaring, and purple flame was melting the tops of the Tevinter towers. Cailan stared at it only a moment before turning back to the darkspawn that had descended on them.

Eideann’s cavalry had ridden down the valley the moment their line had broken, charging through the darkspawn and leaving a field of carnage and destruction and blood. He could smell it, the blood of people, of horses, of dogs. And he could feel the acrid, acidic darkspawn blood burning his flesh.

His wounded torso was killing him, burning like it were aflame. He brandished his sword, cutting through a genlock, and grimaced, his arm held tight against his wound. He hoped it was not getting infected, but he had no way to tell in the middle of the battle.

He could hear Duncan shouting and glanced about, watching men falling and dying about him. And then he looked desperately to the forests, for any sign of Eideann and the other troops.

_Maker, don’t let her be dead._

He heard it, crashing towards him through the forces, a large beast with curving horns and nasty teeth that plowed through his solders and ran right for him. He leapt clear, panting, and whirled about to face it, hacking away with his sword as it drew close.

And then he felt himself being swept up. Its fist closed tight about his wounded torso, squeezing, and a sharp cry escaped him. He felt something crack inside, felt something break, and screamed.

His sword, tight in his hand, was useless. His eyes blurred at the pain. And then the creature brought it close to its reeking jaws and roared. 

And he knew then he was going to die.

“CAILAN!” 

It was his imagination, he knew. It could not possible be real. He saw Eideann, thundering towards him on a horse, cutting through the darkspawn. And then she stood up in the stirrups and jumped, toppling the beast.

And he felt himself fall.

Was it true? Could it be?

He looked up blearily to see Eideann slashing at the beast, screaming herself, covered in blood as her swords slammed through its face over and over.

Cailan felt the fist about him loosen slightly and suddenly he could breathe. And Maker it hurt to do so. He struggled, and the he saw her blonde hair emerge over the top of the beast. She roared, prying the thick darkspawn fingers from about his body, and then caught him before he could fall to the ground, panting and running her hand over him.

“Cailan! No! Stay with me!” 

She was covered in mud, all her armor filthy with blood and gore, some of it human and some of it darkspawn. Her sword stuck out of the damp earth beside them, shaking from the force of it, and she cupped his hands in hers.

“Stay with me!” she ordered, and he carefully reached to touch her.

“Eideann…” he breathed. She felt real. She must be. But…

He felt hot drops of something falling on his face and realized she was crying. 

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him. “Don’t you dare die! I won’t let you!” He gave a weak laugh that sent a jolt of pain rushing through him, and then closed his eyes, lying back and trying just to breathe again.

“As my Queen commands,” he breathed, and she left him then, rising and yanking her sword from the ground, whirling on the next darkspawn to come their way. One of the vicious beasts clad in corrupted plate armor with the horned helmets. 

It charged, and Cailan heard her swords meet its axe somewhere above him, and he gritted his teeth. 

“Eideann, get out of here…go!” he called, but she ignored him. 

And then suddenly he was surrounded by Highever men, all of them in the blue and silver and green, rallying to their Teyrna, their Commander. 

Their Queen. 

He heard someone call out, dropping to his side, and saw through blurry eyes one of the mages extend a hand over him. And then the wash of healing magic hit him, and he screamed, and tensed, and then everything burst into cold stars. His vision went brilliant white, and he was blind. There, in the world populated by screams and shrieks and roars and barking and horse whinnies, he felt something touch his hand, gentle and soft. And he called her name.

“Eideann!” 

“Hush,” she told him quietly.

And then he felt himself moving, and it made him dizzy, like he was being carried by a few people, and he tried to protest, to make a point that he needed to stay. But the hand never slipped from his.

“Cailan, rest…just rest…” And then he knew no more.

***

Eideann carefully released Cailan’s hand as he slipped into unconsciousness. A few of her men hurried him up towards the battlements away from the bulk of the fighting where the mages had established an infirmary in the safety of the walls. She watched them go, then drew her second sword and turned back the darkspawn.

“Warden-Commander!” she called and Duncan fought his way through to her, looking about.

“The Archdemon must be our target.” Eideann nodded breathlessly, cutting through a hurlock, grimacing at her injured arm. 

“Alistair. You have to reach him!” she insisted, and he nodded, but he looked desperate.

“The Archdemon is at the Tower of Ishal. We need a better way through!” he insisted, and she nodded. 

“Rally your men!” she called, realizing she was suddenly the senior officer on the battlefield with the King up on the battlements and Loghain dead. “Commander Bradach!” He whirled to her, eyes dark.

“Your Ladyship, we need to press them now!” he insisted.

“I need a wedge!” she called fiercely, and he nodded.

“Tell me where!” he cried, and she pointed towards the eastern towers, deep into the darkspawn horde.

“I need to get there!” she cried, and he gave her a desperate look, whirling about to hack the head off a shriek that appeared from nowhere. Eideann felt its blood splatter across her face and hissed, wiping it away on her gauntlet before it could burn her skin. “Duncan!” she cried. “Get your men!” He was already off, calling to the Wardens, so she set off after him, Commander Bradach in tow, both of them slashing and hacking through the darkspawn in their path. 

Highever men had a knack for battling through rough terrain, so the rocky valley floor was nothing to them as they made their way across. Only once did Eideann lose her footing and end up barely missing a darkspawn sword, and that was to find the creature peppered with quarrels from atop the battlements where Alfstanna was still holding her forces. The cavalry was battered, and most were now on their feet, but their charge had saved the first line, and now with the bulk of their forces in the valley and the darkspawn smashed against the walls she could see a way out.

Except for that Archdemon.

She gathered what warriors she could as she ran, drawing them along with her, cutting through the darkspawn and charging deep into the horde. They battled their way through, the wedge widening and driving the darkspawn back as she led the Wardens towards the tunnels that Teyrn Loghain’s men had been building. 

And then suddenly they had broken through. The tunnel was swarming with darkspawn, but she drove into them, the Wardens at her back, and together they cleared the path upwards towards the tower. 

“What is this?” Duncan demanded, beheading a darkspawn. Eideann batted away a shield and kicked the darkspawn back before spearing it on her blades, then shook her head.

“The Teyrn was digging it out. It goes to the tower, and by now they’ll have broken through, but if they haven’t, you have a mage right.”

“Yes,” came a shout from an elven Warden who was throwing spells at the darkspawn. “Get me there and I can clear the tunnel.” So they did, driving forward, through the partially collapsed passages.

“If the Teyrn did this, he intended the tower and the battlements to be overrun,” Duncan exclaimed darkly, and Eideann nodded grimly.

“Well we don’t need to worry about him anymore,” she said in a cold voice. “Not ever again.” He gave her a sharp look and then she took the steps up the next level towards the blockage. “I killed him when he tried to turn on the King.”

“So your suspicions were correct after all.” Eideann just nodded, continuing up.

“Yes, and it won’t matter if you can’t kill that bloody dragon.”

“When we get up there,” Duncan said fiercely, “you are to stay well back. A Warden must be the one to slay the Archdemon or it will all be for naught.” She gave him a severe look, then nodded.

“I’ll trust you to know what you’re doing,” she said simply, and then hurried up the last few steps towards the blockage, which was almost entirely rubble now. Wynne’s hard work had been turned into a complete mess of tattered stone and broken rock. The darkspawn had been digging hard to get through, but had not quite made it. 

She breathed a sigh of relief. With Cailan up in the care of mages, wounded, she had turned her attention to Alistair next. She had no idea if the Archdemon had reached him and her small party or not. She had to believe they were safe, because the alternative…

She drew a breath and then stepped aside, pointing.

“Through there,” she said and the Warden mage stepped forward, hurling fire and rock at the cracking foundations until they split. And then they fell, erupting in a cloud of dust and dirt, and Eideann pressed forward through the melee, Wardens at her back.

“Come on,” she called, racing for the stairs through the clouds of dust. “We have to reach them! Hurry!”


	13. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair faces down the Archdemon; Cailan wakes from his injuries to find Eideann has taken charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, injury
> 
> Comments always welcome :)
> 
> Last three chapters beta'd by the lovely MostHopelessofRomantics <3 Thank you!

He could not breathe, the air was super-heated. He could not see, the purple flames had blinded him so thoroughly. And the only thing he could think was that he was going to die.

And he was scared.

Grigor was beside him, crouched on the steps as the Archdemon’s claws tore through the Tevinter roof. Sparks and flaming, charred wood erupted across them as its tail scattered the beacon across the hall. Wynne gave a cry as she was struck by a beam, and Alistair crawled over to her, holding her head down towards the stone steps to protect them both from further debris. The old woman gave a low hiss, checking herself for injuries, and then glanced up over the steps towards the beast. 

Alistair grimaced. It felt like the Void itself, all empty and nothing, like it would swallow the entire world in Nothingness just by getting to close. And he could see himself shaking.

He glanced across to Grigor, and to Eideann’s scout, and swallowed.

Eideann’s scout had a fierce gaze, anger and fear both mingling there, and he had nocked a useless arrow in his bow. 

“Don’t do anything,” Alistair told him sharply. “It has to be a Grey Warden.” The scout gave him a dark look, then swallowed.

“Prince Alistair, the Teyrna told me to watch out for you.” Alistair gave a groan, shaking his head.

“You’ll do what you’re told. That’s an order,” he snapped back, and then glanced to Grigor. “Any ideas?” 

“Charge at it and hope we don’t die?” the Ander grimaced, then swallowed, hard. “Alistair, that scout is right. This is not for you to do unless there is no one else.”

“Stop protecting me and let me save my country!” Alistair demanded. Grigor shook his head.

“You’ve got a long life ahead of you yet, boy. You live it…for that girl of yours, and for yourself. You’ll make a fine Warden-Commander one day.” He grimaced at the Archdemon, then carefully rose up the steps, and Alistair shook his head, yanking him back down.

“Don’t you dare! I’d be a terrible Warden-Commander. That’s your job!” The Ander brushed him off with hardly an effort.

“Come now, Prince Alistair, is it?” he grinned. “Together then.” And they rose together to face down the beast.

Purple flames raked the interior of the tower, and Alistair rolled forward to avoid them, feeling the heat searing the back of his armor. He saw Grigor on his wounded leg wince as he landed heavily, then forced himself up and charged. 

The Archdemon’s breath was darkness incarnate. It seared the flagstones, leaving them black and cracked in its wake. Alistair skirted the edge of the crumbling tower, desperately avoiding the Archdemon’s breath when he could. He saw Wynne and the scout taking aim at the creature with magic and arrows, and grimaced, hoping they did not aim to kill. He was not going to say no to some help weakening the beast.

This close, he could feel nothing but that Nothingness, not even his own heartbeat. He could not hear his own breathing, though he knew he was gasping for breath in the heated room.

Grigor charged, ramming the crumbling tower wall and forcing over. The Archdemon toppled, then staggered, taking to the skies. A few well-placed arrows tore through its wings, and then a spell brought it crashing back down towards the tower as Wynne and the scout headed off its flight. 

The Archdemon plummeted back down towards the tower, and the scout and Wynne both had to flee as it crashed into the floor near the stairs. Alistair was forced to a crouch, shield all he could put between him and the spurting flames, and he felt the scorching of his arm as the fire spewed forth across the chamber. Grigor roared, and Alistair glanced to the side to see the man taking shelter behind the ruins of a column. His beard was catching sparks. Alistair shook his head, then rose up, giving a battle cry. 

“For the Grey Wardens!” he screamed, and then charged. 

The Archdemon’s tail swept him aside and he went crashing across the hall, landing awkwardly on his shoulder. He gave a cry of pain and then forced himself up. Grigor was at his side, hauling him up.

“How do we kill a dragon?!” Alistair demanded.

“Aim for the eyes!” came the shout from the stairs, Eideann’s scout doing just that. His shot rang true and the Archdemon roared, then aimed its fire towards the steps instead and tried to fly again, succeeding only in skidding across the now nearly entirely exposed chamber. Its wings beat the air, battering them back, and Alistair had to plant his feet, grimacing, to keep from behind knocked backwards. Grigor persevered through it, battleaxe held aloft. 

“Die!” he roared and hacked into the beast, sending the creature screaming. He narrowly missed being set aflame as he was battered aside. Alistair came next, Maric’s dragonbone sword scoring its scales deeply. 

The beast roared again, kicking back, and Alistair dove clear, shoulder killing him as he rose to his feet under the beast’s belly.

He drew a deep breath, then roared and thrust his blade up as hard as he could.

The Archdemon reared and stomped back down, knocking him from his feet and sending his sword clattering across the charred flagstones. He clamored for it, crawling across the floor, and felt the rush of magic as Wynne distracted the beast. Grigor kicked his sword over towards him and Alistair scooped it up, turning against the Archdemon with the Constable of the Grey. 

And together they charged again. 

The Archdemon turned its eyes on them, evil and dark, and roared, and then it dove for them. 

They met it, both of them, slamming blades home as hard as they could. 

There was a bright burst of light, and Alistair felt Grigor’s hand close tight on his arm, painfully so. His wounded shoulder wrenched, and he screamed, and then the Ander swung him away, sending him crashing across the floor. He slid, slamming hard into some of the rubble just shy of the damaged wall where it dropped off into nothing at the edge of the tower. Alistair hit it hard, hand immediately going to his shoulder which was now painfully dislocated. And he gave a tear-wracked cry, struggling to breathe, to do anything.

The wash of light hit him full on, enveloping the whole room, the whole night, in a massive flash of light, and he was dazed. He stared a moment, uncertain if he were dead or alive, if his eyes were open or shut. It did not matter. He still could not see. 

And then he slowly could, and he could hear shouting near the stairs, more voices than just the scout and Wynne. Someone’s footfalls were hurrying across the flagstones towards him. Slowly his visual began to return, a blur of bright splotches and dark nothing that began to swim into something.

And then someone was before him, kneeling over him, and he felt a sharp wrenching pain as his arm was yanked straight and reset. He cried out, and those hands crept to his face, into his hair, wiping away his tears of pain. He blinked and looking up, sobbing at the pain of it, and saw rainy eyes above him.

“Maker take you,” Eideann was murmuring. “I thought I had lost you.” She held him close, panting, and he gritted his teeth.

“The…Archdemon?” Eideann looked like she had been through hell, all covered in mud and grime and blood, and she gave him a weary look.

“Dead,” she said softly. He started, trying to push himself up with his injured arm, then cursed himself for a fool as she had to catch him. He looked over then to the beast, where Maric’s sword had struck through its head, and where Grigor’s battleaxe had pierced its open maw. And he thought of Grigor throwing him clear, and tears flooded his head.

“Where is he?” he asked. He caught sight of Duncan glancing to him, then reached desperately for him. “Grigor…where…?!” He could not breathe. 

Duncan just shook his head grimly, and the other Wardens that had climbed the steps were looking on with weary and war-torn faces. One of them was crying, one of the older ones who had come with Grigor from the Anderfels years prior. 

“No…” Alistair breathed. “No! It was meant to be me! You damn fool! It was meant to be _me_!” He struggled to rise, but Eideann held him down, held him back, until finally he just gave a wordless roar of pain and rage and loss, and then hung his head, sobbing his grief away. She bent her head to rest on his then, and he felt hot tears on her cheeks. And he remembered the other person he was so worried about.

“Cailan…?” 

Eideann’s eyes were tired as she looked to him.

“He is badly hurt, Alistair,” she told him quietly. “He is not out of danger yet.” Alistair gritted his teeth, and she sat back a little. “Can you stand?” she asked quietly, and he forced himself up, this time with his good hand, rising as she did. He looked to Grigor’s lifeless form, the singed beard and the wild eyes and all the bulk of the Ander diminished to nothing, and he forced himself to look, to go and stand with the other Wardens, leaving Eideann there where she stood.

“You saved my life,” he murmured to Grigor’s lifeless form. “How will I ever…?” Duncan’s hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked to see the man’s grim face.

“He is a hero,” the Warden-Commander said fiercely. “We will _never_ repay him.” His eyes slid to Alistair’s then, deep and dark, and he fixed them on the amber gaze. “You were both very brave. He wanted you to live. Do not waste that chance.” Alistair nodded, then swallowed, pushing back tears. 

Duncan glanced to Eideann then, and nudged Alistair towards her.

“Go. Your brother needs you. We will care for Grigor.” He said it tenderly, like there was still hope, even though there was none. Alistair took a final look to his fallen comrade, the man who only days before had been teasing him for being in Eideann’s bed, and he set his jaw.

“I will live my life,” he said softly, for the dead man alone. “I promise I will make it a life that was worth saving.” And then he turned his back. 

His good hand found Eideann’s and he noticed she bore injuries of her own. He swallowed, hard, and then met her gaze.

“Where is he?” he asked, meaning Cailan. She met his amber eyes with her own, serious and solemn.

“Come with me,” she said.

***

Eideann was shaking. Her shoulder had been treated and bound with what bandages were available, and the process of burning the dead had begun. What else were they to do when so many of their own lay under mounds of darkspawn?

Some of the troops were leading sorties to drive any remaining darkspawn back into the Deep Roads, but without the Archdemon the creatures were fleeing anyway, leaderless. Without purpose, they simply scattered and fled. For that, at least, she was glad.

Alistair stood with her all the time since that moment, the grief heavy on his heart at the loss of so many. But he had a set to his jaw that made her think of Cailan those days, and she recognized that determination in him to stay strong for all their benefit.

People could not fail to realize in those days that he looked a great deal like their wounded King. Cailan, for his own part, still slept, though the mages assured her he was out of danger. She was not at his side as often as she wished, having to handle the armies now that all the other de facto commanders were dead or incapacitated. 

She could not help but wonder, in those quieter days after the battle, exactly what the price of all of her manipulations would be. She had saved Cailan and foiled Loghain when he may have cost them the entire war, but so many had paid the price with their lives, Loghain included, and there would still be a reckoning in the north, with Anora and with Rendon Howe. With Ferelden safe for the moment, she had finally turned her mind northward.

And she had felt the grief as well, allowed herself to cry. She had spent the first evening with Cailan wounded crouched beside his bed in his tent, sobbing into the furs and blankets as she prayed for any intervention that might be allowed to save him, and while she prayed for the souls of the dead. Not just the dead of Highever, but all the dead, all those lost at Ostagar. 

She also wrote letters, which she sent with Alfstanna, to Redcliffe and South Reach to inform them of the outcome.

Loghain’s army was mostly mollified, settled now into doing exactly as she commanded. Those who were determined to desert had done so before the charge when Loghain’s head had rolled, and it had not been many. 

Ser Gilmore, recovering nicely from his wounds, had been leading small bands to recover deserters, or slay them. Some came back willingly. Others forced his hand.

He was a loyal man, a good man, and she was glad of so many Highever presences in those days.

She sat that afternoon in the cold air of the Wilds, with motes of snow once again falling and covering the remnants of the battlefield in stained-red frost. Her eyes were tired from too many days of working her fingers to the bone. She had had no chance to bathe, to scrub herself clean of all of the death, but neither had anyone else. 

Alistair stood across the tent, tending to Maric’s sword, his eyes every so often flickering up to Cailan where he slept on his bed. And every so often he looked to her as well. And sometimes she caught his gaze.

Despite never being far from one another in those last few days, they had yet to touch, to reclaim some of that life they had in the days before the battle. Instead he stood guard, a proper Knight, solemn and prepared. When people entered the King’s tent now, it was to speak with her, to get her orders, to report to her, and he was always there, watching, waiting for one wrong move. 

But this time when their eyes met, she rose from her seat on one of the folding stools to consider him, and he set down the blade. 

“I am going to Highever,” she told him quietly. He met her eyes, then nodded.

“I am going with you.” 

They did not need to say anything else. The other Wardens had everything under control in the wake of the Blight. Duncan had dispatched a few of his scouts towards the south to ensure the threat was definitely done with, and the missives reporting the death of the Archdemon had been sent. Duncan had refused to let Alistair do much else in those past few days, and Eideann knew why. After facing an Archdemon and barely escaping with his life, Alistair was lucky to be able to do anything at all, and Duncan had been close with Maric before his death. 

The change in Alistair was obvious, the nervous boy now a quiet and capable man. A prince. Now that everyone knew it among the Wardens, and half of the army suspected it, that identity had become an irrefutable part of his destiny too. Alistair had accepted it, if he had not embraced it. And when Cailan lay comatose, Ferelden needed a Prince to look to. A Prince that had battled the Archdemon was even better.

“I did not want to go before he woke, but if we leave it much longer then our enemies in the north will solidify their defenses and we will have a harder time reaching them,” she said quietly. “I cannot let that happen. Not after all we have done to survive here.” He just nodded, understanding, because of course he did. He was her Knight. He was her First. The one _she_ had chosen. He would follow her to the ends of the world. Cailan could rule a kingdom as her King, but Alistair was her Champion.

She turned back towards the back of the tent and he reached for her with his good arm, catching her fingers gently. 

“He will be alright,” he murmured quietly. “They say he is safe from harm now. Soon he will be up and about and bossing us to and fro again, you’ll see.” She met his golden gaze and then stepped into his one-armed embrace, careful of his injured arm, and of her own. Wynne herself had tended to him once she had the energy to do so, and she was apparently the most powerful Spirit mage the Circle had. Eideann simply sighed and buried her face in Alistair’s good shoulder.

“Maker, I was so scared…For you both,” she murmured. 

There was a soft groan and they both of them glanced up, Eideann feeling a twinge in her shoulder from the quick movement of her neck. And then they were both of them hurrying back through the curtains at the back of the tent.

Eideann reached to catch Cailan’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze as she sank into a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Your Majesty?” she called softly. “Cailan?” 

He groaned again and then his eyes carefully flickered open, and she breathed a sigh of relief, glancing up to Alistair a moment like it had taken everything else she had to simply hold her fears at bay until then. And then she bent over Cailan, carefully brushing his hair away.

He glanced up at her a moment, then recognition dawned, and he carefully reached to brush her face with his other hand, though the motion exhausted him.

“My Lady…” he breathed, and then winced as he tried to move. She stilled him with a hand flat on his chest.

“Do not move,” she told him in a low murmur. “You have a few broken ribs, and were in a great deal of danger. You will recover, but you must rest.” He swallowed, and turned his head slightly, then reached his hand out to Alistair who clasped it gently. 

“Little brother,” Cailan breathed, giving a smile and laying back, closing his eyes again. “I was so frightened for you both when I saw that beast.” Alistair shook his head, sinking into a seat as Eideann had done, holding Cailan’s hand tight.

“You are safe, as are we,” he murmured. “The battle was won, the creature slain.”

“Who is…who leads my armies…?” Cailan asked. “Loghain?”

“Loghain is dead,” Eideann said in a frosty voice. “I have led them since his defeat. It was as we suspected. He tried to leave you to die.” He sighed, a flicker of pain crossing his face, and then turned his head away a little.

“Ah,” was all he would say in reply. So Eideann bent slightly and pulling his hand to her lips gently.

“You are alive, my King. That is what is important. We are alive, and the Blight is ended.” He nodded, then glanced to her, opening his eyes just a crack to see her.

“Ah, Eideann, what would I have done without you?” 

“Honestly?” Alistair asked. “Probably died. Several times over.” Cailan gave a soft chuckle, then winced at his injuries. 

“What will happen now? Were you waiting for me to wake to make more decisions?” Eideann shook her head with a small smile.

“We are going to move north now you are awake, get help for the wounded further north. We will take you to Redcliffe where you will be safe from further attacks with Arl Eamon. And then Alistair and I will ride on Highever. You will have time to heal while I reclaim my Teyrnir, and then we will ride on Denerim together,” she said softly. Cailan sighed.

“So not straight to Denerim then?”

“In your state?” Alistair laughed, shaking his head. “No. Redcliffe is the safer bet until we reclaim the north.” Cailan’s eyes flickered to Alistair, who met them and held the gaze between them.

“And you, Little Brother?” Cailan asked quietly. “They all know who you are now, don’t they?” Alistair’s smile slipped slightly and he looked away towards the tent canvas.

“Yes, or most do. What they think of it, I cannot say. But they know. They also know I fought an Archdemon, and that the Blight is ended.” Cailan squeezed his hand and Eideann glanced up to him a moment before smiling slightly. 

“He is a hero,” she said quietly. “And they love him for it. Maric’s other son. They stood and saw their King fight for them when all hope was lost, and they saw their Prince light the beacon and then face down the Archdemon itself.”

“And the follow the Teyrna of Highever.” Alistair said quietly, “because the Flame of Highever has held this battlefield together, and half of them know she refused to turn and run when all seemed lost when even Teyrn Loghain would not stay.” 

“So be it. Heroes we are then,” Cailan muttered with a small smirk, and then he gently coaxed them down beside him, one on either side. “Come, lay with me. I want to be with both of you.” Alistair gave a soft laugh, shaking his head, and then let himself be pulled down into the crook of Cailan’s arm. Eideann curled on his other side, resting her head lightly on the King’s shoulder. Cailan looked between both of them. “My two favorite people in all the world,” he breathed. Eideann just smiled and kiss his cheek softly.

“We are glad you are back,” she whispered, and Alistair nodded, careful of his arm. Cailan sighed.

“In the morning, we will ride, yes?” he breathed, and Eideann nodded against him before he sighed. “Then stay with me, both of you, tonight.” Eideann sat up with a laugh.

“Have you seen the state of us? Alistair cannot use his arm! You have broken ribs! I am injured myself! You can’t possibly expect…”

“Ah, love, we have our hands,” Cailan grinned and she flushed red, and Alistair snorted a laugh. 

“I have _a_ hand,” he corrected. “Maker’s blood, Cailan…really?” Cailan just grinned and reached to pull their heads together. Then he motioned to Eideann.

“She’s just too beautiful,” he said, “our Flame of Highever. I would not waste a single moment.” Eideann simply shook her head, sighing.

“No,” she said softly. “But soon, I promise, when we are all better again.” And then she reached to kiss Cailan softly, and then kiss Alistair too. “I must go and check on the preparations, let my Commander know that you are awake.” She glanced to Alistair and he nodded, reading her intent. 

“I will stay,” he promised, and she smiled. Cailan glanced between them, then gave a soft laugh as Eideann slipped back through the curtain and he was left alone with Alistair in the crook of his arm.

“You read one another’s thoughts now?” he teased softly. “You should have eloped with her when you could.” Alistair just smiled.

“I know,” he said, and then pushed himself up with his good arm, shaking his head. “But then who would put you to rights?” Cailan just smiled.

“You’ve grown up fast, Alistair,” he said softly, and Alistair just nodded, looking away, reaching towards the side of the bed where Eideann’s rose lay, preserved in the cold, the ribbon still tied about the stem.

“We all have,” he said softly, and twisted the rose in his fingertips, smelling its sweet scent carefully. “We have all had to.” He pushed up to rising and gently set the rose aside, glancing back to Cailan. “I will be on the other side of the curtain. Rest while you can. As Eideann likes to say, this fight is only half done.” And then he smiled ever so slightly. “And Cailan…?” Cailan met his eyes, a question hovering between them a moment, and then Alistair’s smile grew. “I’m glad to have you back.”


	14. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and her force make a plan to reclaim Highever Castle from Rendon Howe; the battle for Highever commences; Eideann says goodbye to Highever; Cailan goes to confront Anora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)
> 
> Thanks Hopeless for the beta :D

The rain was falling on her hood, dampening the sound of the sea somewhere in the distance. Above, gulls wheeled through the clouds and called forlornly across the basalt cliffs. She took a deep breath, heartsick and tired, and looked up towards the cliffs where Highever Castle was framed against the stormy sky. 

Home. And so much was still wrong.

She felt Alistair’s presence at her side and put out a hand, closing her eyes a moment. His fingers crept into hers, silent and still, and she felt the heat from his touch a moment before nodding and breaking contact. When she looked up he was watching her with quiet, golden eyes.

“Will you be alright?” he asked. She nodded.

“I have no choice.” 

And that was true. In order to bring stability back to Ferelden, and in order for Cailan to be able to shut down the last of Anora’s plots, she needed to dispose of Rendon Howe. But she was not looking forward to walking into the halls of her castle, full to bursting with memories she would never experience again, and face him down for her own hall. She loved Highever, but that part of her life was sore and wounded.

She reached to her shoulder, rubbing her healing wound with a low sigh, and then nodded.

It had taken longer than planned to reach Highever. They had stayed at Ostagar only that final night, during which they held a service officiated by a Chantry Sister, for Grigor of the Anderfels, the Hero of Ferelden. Their path had brought them the long way round via Redcliffe, where they had left Cailan to heal under the care of Arl Eamon.

Bann Teagan had accompanied them northward, as had Bann Alfstanna, so she had an entire cavalry, the remnants of the Highever army, and the Waking Sea longbowmen at her back to take back her castle. But what it really came down to was insuring that none of her people had been harmed. 

She did not trust that to be the case.

Alistair’s presence had been a great comfort. He was very quiet on the ride north, but she took that to mean he was still grieving the death of his friend. She knew he blamed himself, knew he had intended on dying himself. She was thankful for Grigor for having the wherewithal to save him. Had she lost him too…

That said, they kept to separate tents. After all, people believed her Cailan’s Mistress, and if that was ever going to turn into wife, she could not be seen with Alistair as well. That discretion would have to be part of their relationship, for the benefit of everyone else. 

It was strange to sleep alone after that week at Ostagar bundled between them. It was strange to turn over in the night and find no one there to catch her hand. She missed them both, though Alistair was right there beside her in the daytime, loyal Knight and Prince. With that all but confirmed, Alistair had found himself in a difficult sort of position and in the center of attention.

Eideann led her horse back towards her army, which waited on the hills, and there circled up with Alfstanna and Teagan to determine the best plan.

“The servant’s exit lets out at the docks. If we can fill the castle without Howe noticing, the rest of us can batter down the doors. I would like this done with as little bloodshed as possible. These are Highever men and women.” 

“Once they see your force,” Teagan said slowly, “the townsfolk will ally with you. They have no love of Rendon Howe, and you have brought their sons and daughters, husbands and wives home to them again, victorious.” She nodded, but wished she felt more confident. For most people, living from day to day was hard enough. Many would hide rather than join her, and she was not going to force those she had left behind into the streets to die. 

“The Chantry,” Alistair said suddenly, and they all looked up. He considered them. “If we can reach the Chantry, they can summon the townsfolk with the bells. That will leave the streets clear and we’ll be able to move without harming anyone.” 

“It will also alert Rendon Howe that we are coming,” Alfstanna said darkly.

“Yes,” Eideann said slowly, “but Ser Gilmore can lead an assault on the gates, and I can take a number of my people in through the servant’s exit to trap Rendon Howe. I doubt he knows it’s there.” Her eyes were hard like flint now. “My group can infiltrate the castle and take him down before he even realizes I’m the one he is facing.” She glanced to Teagan and Alfstanna. “If this is going to work, it has to look like this is an external attack. I need Alfstanna’s longbowmen to get up on the roofs of the nearest buildings and take down the Howe men along the walls. Bann Teagan, I need you in the Chantry. The Revered Mothers know you, but you’re not immediately recognizable to most people in Highever, and particularly not to Howe’s troops.” She glanced to Alistair. “And you are with me.”

“Always,” he said with a nod, glancing back towards the town. Eideann nodded, satisfied, and then turned away to find Ser Gilmore and Commander Bradach. She found them preparing their troops, both of them with serious, angry looks on their faces. Ser Gilmore immediately went for the plan, eager for blood at the walls. Commander Bradach, however, was a little more hesitant.

“I will come with you,” he said simply, “since I left with you and it would give us away if I was out on the field, though I don’t like leaving my men.” He grimaced. “We would do better to approach the docks by sea if possible.” 

“Smuggler coves,” Eideann said softly. “There are always smuggler coves along the coast. If we can find one…”

“I may know a few of our soldiers that have a more checkered history, Your Ladyship.” Eideann sighed, then nodded, and he went off to find a few who had joined up after a stint or two with the Raiders. If they could get a boat…

She wet her lips, tasting the sweet rain, and closed her eyes again, pushing aside the hurt in her heart.

_I’ll avenge you, everyone,_ she thought to herself. When she finally looked up, Alistair was watching her thoughtfully.

“We will make it right,” he told her, and she shook her head.

“No. It won’t ever be right again,” she replied quietly. “But we will make Howe pay for his treachery.” She gritted her teeth. “If we can, we need him to admit before witnesses that he was Anora’s man all along, or things will be much harder for Cailan.” Alistair sighed, grimacing. 

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” 

“With weeks to recover? Yes. With any luck, we’ll cross paths with him again on the North Road when we ride south again.” Eideann’s eyes were cold. “I don’t want to be here, Alistair…” He nodded. There really was not any other response to give to that. So she swallowed, and then chewed at her lower lip a moment before drawing a breath and heading back towards the column.

Commander Bradach appeared half an hour later with a few bedraggled soldiers in tow. One was missing an eye and the other had scars all the way down his neck and into his armor. But both of them bowed to her, deep, real bows of respect and admiration.

“We used to run with the Raiders hereabouts, milady,” one of them said, giving a nervous glance to his fellow. “We know where we might find a cache and some boats. Small ones…enough to row into the docks and get a small party inside.” Eideann breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said quietly. “Your assistance is much appreciated.” 

“That’s our town too, milady,” the other said darkly, his voice low and cold. “We’ll pay the bastards back for what they’ve done.” Eideann met his eyes.

“That is a promise,” she replied, her voice like ice. “Commander, get together a small group. We will be going with these gentlemen.” He called for a few of the swifter scouts to follow them, and two bulky looking warriors with eyes like stone. Eideann looked back to where Teagan was saddling up. “We won’t have long. We’ll need to move when the bells ring,” she said, not to anyone in particular, more for herself.

Ser Gilmore, wound healed and eyes cold, sidled up to her.

“We’re ready, Your Ladyship,” he told her. “When those bells ring, we charge.”

“If you can take the gates, do it. I’ll burn them down if I have to. Just keep as many of our side safe as you can, Rory.” He nodded and she met Alistair’s gaze. “Ready?” He nodded as well, so she gave a grim little smile, looking back to the ex-Raiders. “Alright gentlemen. Lead on.”

***

The boat slipped across the sea in silence, waves folding around the wooden planks as they rowed towards the end of the docks nearest the servant’s entrance. The entrance had been built for offloading supplies from ships directly into the castle. She hoped she was right that Howe had no idea it was there. She did not suspect he was the sort of man who paid much heed to how servants went about their business. But if he was aware of it, he would have it guarded, and she did not relish a fight yet. 

The air was eerily still and quiet, only the sound the rain pattering into the sea about them, and the quiet thrum of the waves caught in the fogs that blanketed the inlet. A gentle breeze pulled at her hair, but nothing like the wild storms that sometimes tore across the Coastlands. This was a gentle squall, the sort that made Highever bleak and dreary and mysterious. She was glad for the cover.

Even so she listened hard through the muted fog for the bells of the Chantry in the distance. She could not hear them yet, but she knew the fog may bank the sound a little, and she did not want to miss them entirely. She needed to know when the armies charged the gates. They would only have a little time once they did. 

The boat nudged the dock, water splashed heavily against the hollow wood and echoing out too loudly compared to the hush of the autumnal rainstorm. Eideann leaped clear, her boots hitting the damp wood of the docks, and paused a moment to consider that she was well and truly home now. And as she did so, she heard the bells, deep and dark, ringing down from the village up the hills. She narrowed her eyes, drew her swords, and then moved on without ever looking back.

The halls of Highever Castle were as she remembered. The old tapestries and the paintings still hung in their places. The familiar smells still lingered in the kitchens as she and her companions climbed the steps through the larders. She could smell mabari, and the slick wet stone, and she could feel the weight of the misty air even there.

But it was all wrong. There were no people, none she knew, and there were still bloodstains on some of the walls. In placed the stone was charred from fire, and elsewhere an entire wall had collapsed from damage taken during the siege.

Her footsteps were soft on the stone as she walked, armed and angry, through her childhood haunts. Here Nan used to tell them stories. There they would hide when they’d stolen sweet honey cakes from the kitchens. Up on the walls they had played a game of dares with Ser Gilmore.

And then she heard shouting, and the castle bells ringing, calling the guards to arms. 

Ser Gilmore had begun his attack. She waited then, as guardsmen ran past in the corridors beyond, until she had deemed it safe to proceed with her small company. Some of Commander Bradach’s men caught the last of the Howe guards and slit their throats, letting red run through the halls again, this time for vengeance and the Couslands. 

Eideann swept up the steps, straight into a band of soldiers racing for the main gate, and cut down three before they even realized what was happening. Beside her, Alistair brought down a few of his own, and the rest fell to Highever swords as they made their way to the Great Hall.

She kicked in the door, knowing that at least could be fixed, as the gates – damaged from Howe’s original attack – gave way. Ser Gilmore’s men were through. 

There, in the center of the Hall was Rendon Howe, all sharp eyes and hooked nose, staring at her with a mix of astonishment and disgust. And he sneered.

“Ah, you survived,” he spat as swords rang from sheaths about the chamber. Eideann met his gaze. “Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man.” She strode into her Hall – Maker, it was _hers_! – and her eyes fell on the portraits of Eleanor and Bryce Cousland flanking the fireplace. They were slashed with blades, loose canvas. Her eyes slid to Rendon Howe in the firelight.

“You picked the wrong side in this fight,” she said in a dangerously low tone. “Face me, and die.” He just laughed.

“Who are you? The King’s Whore?” he grinned and shook his head. “I am the new Teyrn of Highever. You are nothing. Less than nothing. And soon you too will be dead, just like your mother and father and the rest of your pathetic little family.” 

He put out a hand, having no intention of facing her himself, and his guards stepped forward, cold and cruel, blades at the ready. 

The battle that ensued was bloody. Commander Bradach’s men met Howe’s in a gruesome match of strength and fortitude. And Eideann went straight for Rendon Howe.

He was fast, faster than he had a right to be, and almost a match for her, similar as their fighting style was. They exchanged blows and parries, twists and thrusts, dancing in and among the battling soldiers, over the furniture and across the hall. Commander Bradach’s forces were doing a fine job keeping his soldier’s at bay, and the others were distracted by heavy fighting in the courtyard where Ser Gilmore’s main force had broken through. 

Eideann focused on the Arl, the man who had slain her family. And it took everything in her not to kill him, not to end him. She needed him to admit there and then, before everyone, that he had worked with Anora’s promise of payment. He needed him to concede. And only then could she take his head.

“I made your mother kiss my feet as she died. It was the last thing your father ever saw,” he told her with a grin. “And that little boy, the way he screamed when I cut down his Antivan whore of a mother. I hung your brother’s head from the gates so everyone would know he was dead,” Howe taunted, sneering at her. Eideann simply parried his thrust and then swung at him, hard, feeling her blades make contact with his armor and sending him leaping back, getting clear just in time. He glared at her as they walked amongst the bodies of his fallen soldiers, slowly circling back, and she held out one of her blades towards him, threatening him slowly backwards.

Until a sword met his back.

He swung about, eyes wide, and glared down Maric’s blade.

“Who are you?” he spat. Eideann’s eyes narrowed.

“I am Prince Alistair Theirin,” was the reply as Maric’s blade forced Howe to step forward and together he and Eideann both closed in on the Arl. 

“Bah, Maric’s bastard?!” Arl Howe laughed, a cold and cruel laugh. “Cailan sends a bastard and a whore to bring me to justice?!” 

“She is the Teyrna of Highever. That you are not dead yet is testament only to her patience,” Alistair spat, as the last of the Howe men were overwhelmed, leaving Rendon Howe alone and unguarded in the hall with only his axe to defend himself. “Beg for her mercy, though you hardly deserve it.” Rendon Howe grinned then glanced back to Eideann.

“Beg? Never. I will be a Teyrn.” 

“You will never be a Teyrn,” Eideann said quietly, coldly, her blades forcing the man to his knees before her. He glared up at her all hate and bitterness. 

“Maker spit on you,” he told her in a twisting voice. “I _deserved_ more.” Eideann peered down her sword at him, shaking her head.

“Say her name,” she said simply. “Say her name, the one who promised you all of this…Say it, or the next to die will be Thomas.” Howe’s eyes flashed and he sneered.

“You will never touch my son,” he said simply.

“Don’t make me try.” Rendon Howe gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head, and sneered.

“I have no loyalty to the Mac Tir bitch. Maker take you, and Maker take her.” Eideann glared down on him, then drew her sword back and slammed it back hard, taking off the Arl’s head. And then she stepped away as his head rolled across the floor, turned her back on him, and dropped her swords, and crossed the hall towards the far door.

Behind her, her soldiers gathered, solemn and silent, and Ser Gilmore nudged the Arl’s lifeless body with his foot before glancing to Alistair.

“It’s done,” he said softly. Alistair just nodded, eyes skimming to the door where Eideann had disappeared.

“This piece at least.” 

***

He found her higher within the castle, staring at the carpets where blood had stained the fabric, with tears running freely down her cheeks. The chambers there were in disarray, garments and keepsakes cast asunder in every room, as if someone had torn apart the Cousland lives after stealing them cruelly away. 

Eideann stood in the center of the hall, but as he approached her, she turned towards him, burying her face in his chest and sobbing out all the loss and grief. And as he looked about the chambers she had once called home, he too felt a profound sense of loss too. 

He did not know how long he held her, but finally she pulled away, and crossed into a chamber to the left off the hall where a four-poster bed stood, an armor rack and a wardrobe, and a stone bath was nestled in the corner.

“This was mine,” she said in a quiet voice. He gazed about, trying to place her inside, and he could not. Not because of the mess, but because she seemed not to fit there. When he thought of Eideann now, he thought of a tent, with rain falling softly down, a glowing brazier, and a bed piled high with bearskin furs and blankets. And he thought too of Cailan, because in the few short weeks he had relearned her, he had come to understand that the three of them were inextricably linked.

If Cailan were there, what would he see? What would he did? But such questions did not matter. Cailan was not there. It was Alistair who stood in that room now with her, Alistair who had held her in sorrow and loss, Alistair who had helped her reclaim this.

“I need to get some of my things,” she said softly, like she needed to explain. She didn’t. He simply helped her gather some of her garments, gowns befitting a Lord’s daughter she might need, a small hand-mirror, anything she had left. She vanished for a moment and returned shortly afterward with a sword and a shield bearing the Cousland crest, which she carefully settled with her other things. They loaded it all into a trunk at the foot of her bed, which he helped her carry then down the steps. She was as determined as he to see the last of the place. Highever was no home to her anymore.

At the bottom of the steps, Ser Gilmore was waiting. Eideann considered him with quiet, red-rimmed eyes, and then turned the care of the place over to him. 

“I can’t stay,” she said, and did not need to explain to him. Ser Gilmore just nodded, giving a soldier’s bow.

“I’ll hold it safe for you, Your Ladyship, should you ever wish to return.” 

“Keep the army, let the men go home to their families,” Eideann said quietly. “I will take only a small group of my guardsmen with me.” And then, with Ser Gilmore’s help, they carried her trunk to the courtyard, where Commander Bradach was waiting. 

He insisted on going himself of course, insisted on seeing it through, and Eideann let him, unable to argue. Alistair could feel the flat grief upon her, could read it in every weary line of her face. 

“Come,” he told her softly. “We will depart in the morning. For now, let us tend to the dead.” 

They had a service then, atop the rainy cliffs, where they burned an empty pyre for all the bodies they did not have. Howe’s men had scattered the ashes of the Cousland family long before they had arrived, along with those of the servants and guardsmen lost in the original attack. The empty pyre was important though. Eideann lit it herself. 

It was a way she could say goodbye.

They stood a long while atop the cliffs, the rain cascading over them in a fine mist, watching the bonfire burn against a backdrop of fog and riotous seas. And then, at last, Eideann turned away, considered her men.

“Long live the Teyrna of Highever,” one said softly, and it carried, until they were all saying it, bowing low. Eideann’s eyes took them all in, a mirror to the stormy seas behind her, and then her gaze fell on Alistair. He met it, held it, and finally nodded.

“May the Maker bring you peace.”

***

Denerim was noisy and loud. Cailan grimaced, rubbing at his sore ribs, still not entirely healed, and nudged his horse onward into the streets. About him, what remained of the King’s Army followed, heads held high. At his side, having regrouped with him only the day before, were Eideann and Alistair, and with them had come half the lords in the Coastlands. They had swept through Amaranthine, where Arl Thomas had capitulated to Highever without a fight, and then taken the Pilgrim’s Path southward.

He had never been so glad to see someone in his entire life. 

The days he had spent recovering at Redcliffe had been hard ones. He had not realized until that moment how much he had become accustomed to both their company. He had missed Eideann’s quiet resolve, determined nature, and strong sense of duty. And he had missed her laughter, the way it suddenly came from nowhere, and the way she reached out her hands to them both and beckoned for her Theirin Princes. And he had missed Alistair, his sarcasm and his gentle bashfulness, his eager heroics and his lack of ambition when so many around him were so desperate to see their fortunes made at his expense. 

He loved his Uncle. Arl Eamon reminded him of the few memories he had of his mother. But Arl Eamon was a severe sort of man, all the weight of tradition and honor. When Cailan had told him of his plans, the man had been hesitant at best. While he did not object to Eideann Cousland, he had rather more to say on the matter of Alistair. It was good to be out from under his wing for once. 

The man was in his retinue of course, riding now with Teagan, who had always been more like a brother to him than an Uncle, they were so close in age. Teagan had been a close friend of Fergus Cousland, and had known Eideann since she was young. And he had helped care for Alistair at Redcliffe, and was fond of him too. In Teagan he had his ally where Eamon was still reticent.

All of his plans, however, hinged on a single action of his own. If he could not oust Anora, he could make no further actions. 

She was waiting for them, of course, knowing by now of her father’s fate at the hands of the Teyrna of Highever, whom some called the King’s Whore. Her guards arrived to escort them from the gates to the Royal Palace and the Landsmeet chamber, no doubt because in the midst of politics was where Anora felt powerful. Cailan could hardly refuse a royal escort when he was the King himself, so they rode amidst the smattering of gold and silver-armored cavalry. He did not dare look back at Eideann Cousland.

But she looked like something else that morning, hair caught up in a golden net, a coronet of serpentstone and bronze glinting in the sunlight. She wore her freshly cleaned blue velvet cloak embroidered with the Cousland laurels, and her gown was a deep gold and blue silk. She had brought back only a single trunk of belongings from Highever, which apparently included the Cousland family blade that now lay safely tucked away. Everything else she had left, the remnants of a life, and whatever happened now, he was as aware as she that she could never go back.

But to see her there upon her Forder, eyes the color of rain, clad like the highest of ladies...It made his heart race to think of the ways he intimately knew that woman, to know that it was she who had led the charge against the darkspawn, had brought justice to Loghain and Howe. 

They dismounted at the palace gates and turned their horses over to the grooms waiting near the doors. Cailan climbed the steps carefully, surrounded by guardsmen he certainly did not trust, and Eideann came after with the last of her soldiers, her arm in Arl Eamon’s, the next in rank. Cailan threw upon the doors, marched into his hall, armor glistening from repairs and a good polish at Redcliffe.

The Landsmeet was lined with every noble in Denerim, and many called from beyond. He had thought it strange not to see more of them on his ride north, but he had not imagined she would cloak herself in the wealth of the nobility. After all, she was still the Queen, and could have said anything to get them there. As it was, they simply stood, lining the balconies and the royal blue carpets, watching his entourage with confusion and severity.

And she was there, that woman, seated on his throne, watching them at the far end of the hall beneath the golden drapes amidst the roaring fires, clad entirely in gold. She wore her crimson cloak, as he did, and on her head a crown of finest gold, the one she had worn for her coronation, set with sapphires of the highest quality, raiment fit for a queen.

“My King,” she called to him, a voice he remembered that made a dark shudder creep up his spine. He met her sapphire eyes across the hall, and saw nothing of his one-time friend within them. Instead he longed for a stormier gaze, rainy and turbulent like the Waking Sea. Anora rose from the throne, standing tall on the dais before him, looking down at them all from on high, and gave the slightest of chilly smiles as she opened her arms to them all. “Welcome home.”


	15. Theirin Princes Always Have My Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan confronts Anora; a royal wedding takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: smut (a lot of smut); Incest (the usual sort for this story)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :D
> 
> Special thanks to Fen'Assan and Kamille for helping to come up with the Fereldan wedding vows. As always to MostHopelessofRomantics for the beta - the original version of this chapter was awful so please shower her with love!
> 
> THIS IS NOT THE END! There is a final chapter in the works, so keep an eye out for it. ;)

Eideann could feel the tension in the air as they crossed the Landsmeet chamber. Cailan, King and rightful ruler, gazed up at his wife before the Fereldan throne with eyes of silver. About them, the lords and ladies of Ferelden gathered to watch, to see. 

As they walked between the columns of noble spectators, she heard some murmur at her passing.

“ – killed Loghain – “

“ – King’s Whore – “

At her side, Alistair was quiet, solemn and ever inch a Knight again, a Grey Warden used to hearing such things, the forebears of ill tidings. But the Blight was defeated and this was the final step in securing the kingdom. So Eideann held her head high as well, no matter what they said. Let the rumors swirl. She would rise above them all.

Anora slowly descended the steps. 

“They tell me,” she said in a dangerous voice, “that my father is dead.” There was something of a threat in that, but whether it was meant for Cailan or for her, Eideann could not tell. She simply drew up just behind Cailan, keeping her focus on Anora’s guardsmen that had joined them when they entered the city. Surely, somewhere, the trap lay. She had only to puzzle it out.

But Cailan simply sighed beside her.

“Loghain Mac Tir tried to kill me and destroy my army as we fought to battle the Blight. He was executed for treason.” Anora’s eyes flickered a little, a darkness and a hate that was just as quickly masked over. 

“Yes, by the whore beside you,” she said in a cold, quiet voice, but in the silence of the Landsmeet it carried.

“You will not speak of Teyrna Cousland in such a manner,” Cailan said, and his voice was cold now too. Eideann felt like winter itself had come early to those chambers. 

“I will speak of her as is fitting. You claim my father was a traitor, but you have only the word of a harlot to confirm it, and the same harlot whose sword dealt the blow.” Anora glared. “She is using you, Cailan. She has used you all. Her desperate climb to power – “

“Enough,” Cailan said sharply, and Anora fell silent, staring at him. He shook his head. “Once we were friends, you and I. We stood together for a better Ferelden. But now…I do not recognize you anymore, my Lady. Your father tried to have my killed, and it is by the Maker’s grace alone I am lucky to have such friends as I do who were able to stand against him. And he did this for your benefit. You know the reason why.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, and he took a step forward, eyes narrowed to points of silver. “While I am in the south defending my kingdom from the darkspawn, I hear news that Rendon Howe has seized Highever and murdered the Couslands. He did this because someone had promised to make him a Teyrn, and it certainly was not I, my Lady. Tell me, who here aside from you or I has the authority to grant such a title to a treasonous snake?” He let the question hang a moment, and then he sighed. “Once you believed as I do that we have an obligation to do what is right for this country.” 

“Do not preach to me, Cailan!” Anora said fiercely from atop the dais. “You speak of duty and obligation, of politics and lies, but what of you? What of your plans to see me gone?” Her voice was like ice. “I am the Queen of Ferelden. You cannot banish me from your sight because you wish an heir, when you are too busy laying with harlots to tend to your own marriage!” 

“No,” he agreed, “I cannot. You deserved a chance to find your own way, to be with a man who loves you, and who you love in return.” 

“Why are you speaking like this?!” she hissed. “I am your Queen! I am your wife!” 

“And you are a traitor,” he said softly. “And I cannot let you sit beside me knowing the lengths you would sink to keep such power. I am not a perfect man, Anora, and I have never been a perfect husband to you. But I was willing to let you have your chance. Now you have left me with no choice.” Anora had gone as white as a sheet.

“I have done nothing,” she breathed, descending the steps halfway. “I have only defended myself.”

“That is true,” he told her gently. “And that is the problem. I cannot have a Queen who believes only in her own power. I must have a Queen that will give anything for Ferelden, even when that demand is everything she is.” Anora swallowed, hard, shaking her head.

“Do not do this,” she said quietly. “Do you really think you can rule this kingdom alone without me? For five years I have minded this land while you have played at politics. I have given my life to this union, since the moment the match was set.” Her eyes were wide now, desperate, and she finally stepped down to level with him. “Cailan, please…if any part of you still cares for me.”

“You sought to have me murdered,” he told her, the pain in his voice clear. Eideann felt it reverberate through her and pushed her anger away, closing her eyes. “You set sycophants loose to massacre ancient noble houses. You let your own father try to assassinate me. I am the ruler of Ferelden, not you. I am the one confirmed by the Landsmeet. You have been my Queen by my grace alone. No longer.” His voice went hard, like steel. “Anora Mac Tir, I banish you from court. From this day forward, you are no longer my wife, and you are not the Queen of Ferelden. You have a day to gather your things, and then I expect you gone. For the respect and love I once bore you, I will not commit you to a traitor’s punishment, but you are to leave Ferelden and never return.” Anora was watching him with wide eyes, and then they narrowed, hardened, until they were as cut like gemstones, and she glared at him, then wheeled on Eideann.

“This is your doing,” she spat. Cailan moved as if to put himself between them, but Anora shoved past him towards Eideann. For her part, Eideann simply met her cold blue gaze firmly. “Tell me, _Lady_ Eideann, what was it that made you throw away all your honor and bed a married man? Did he promise you the throne? How long do you think it will be before he tires of you as well?” Eideann drew a quiet breath.

“Our first meeting took place almost six years hence,” she told the woman softly. “His heart was mine before he married you.” Anora froze at that, stiffening, and then Eideann felt the feeling of a hand across her face. Smarting pain erupted, but she forced herself to keep her hands at her side as she carefully checked her teeth and then looked up. “You should leave,” she said in a low voice. “You only have a day before the guards come looking, and if it is Highever men who find you, they will not be so merciful, after what Rendon Howe did with your permission.” Anora glared at her, then at Cailan, before gathering her skirts and storming through them, heading for the door. Eideann did not turn, though Cailan did, watching her depart. The doors swung wide, then slammed shut in her wake, and he sighed, then glanced to Eideann.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, and she just gave a nod, then glanced up.

“Go,” she told him softly, hardly looking to him. “Take your throne. See that this is done.” He drew a breath, then carefully climbed the steps of the dais before sinking into the simple seat amidst the golden drapes.

“My Lords, my Ladies,” he called to the Landsmeet chamber, and all of them were watching him. 

Except for Eideann, and except for Alistair. 

He drew close, gently turning her face to check her cheek where Anora’s slap had landed. And then, at last, he drew back.

“It’s enough,” Eideann said softly. “It’s over. It’s done.” He nodded, and then glanced to the throne where Cailan was issuing his orders.

“Almost,” he said softly. “There is still one more thing.” 

***

His footsteps echoed down the corridors, Warden armor polished and primed as he carried the red roses, bound with blue ribbon. No one stopped him. By now the servants knew who he was, that he was Cailan’s brother, and that was that. There was also too much to do, too many things to set in motion.

The months following the Blight had been chaotic at best as they tried to put everything in order, but this day had been a long day coming. He had not had the chance to return to Denerim for some time, having gone on a long journey to report to the First Warden at Weisshaupt with Duncan. He spared a glance to the dark silk tabard beneath his armor and smiled a little to himself.

_I’m the Constable of the Grey, Grigor. Like you wanted._ It still hurt to think of the man, to think of what he sacrificed, but in the months since the Blight had been ended and the Archdemon slain, Alistair had come to terms with what that meant. 

He took the final steps to the chambers where Eideann had established her room, and then paused, knocking at the door. There was a sound of someone calling for him to enter, so he carefully reached to push open the door. And then he stood, entranced, as he caught sight of her in the center of the room.

Maker, she was beautiful, ethereal in brilliant silver and gold. He checked the room for ladies-in-waiting but she simply gave a soft laugh.

“I sent them all away,” she said, trying to pin up her hair alone. He simply gave her a shake of the head and then carefully closed the door behind him, holding out the bouquet to her, roses spilling in a cascade of red in his hands. She glanced to them then smiled wide and reached to take them, abandoning her hair. It had grown somewhat in those months, long enough now to fall about her shoulders. He moved to brush the escaping hair from the nape of her neck and then kiss her gently, softly.

“You shouldn’t be preparing alone,” he told her. “There’s too much to do.” She just smiled again, shaking her head.

“Then you help me, my Knight,” she whispered, setting down her bouquet and then tossing her arms about his neck to kiss him deeply.

“Eideann,” he breathed and she gave a quiet laugh, and it warmed him to see her so happy.

“Constable,” she replied in an equally chastising tone to mock him, then drew back, reaching to pin her hair again. She bent her head, and he moved forward, carefully taking the task from her. He had never really done it before, pinning hair, but he had seen some of the girls in the Chantry do it when he had lived there, and so he carefully angled the pins and slid them in, securing the loose locks from her neck. And then he bent to kiss it again, softly, careful to leave no marks. 

She considered herself in her mirror atop a carved wooden vanity, and her rainy gaze flickered to him in the reflection. He reached to smooth down the silk of her dress, to tangle his fingers with hers, and then drew her back.

“Maker, if you were mine instead,” he breathed, and ran his fingers over her jaw.

“I _am_ yours,” she said softly, and he caught her light blush. 

“You know what I meant,” he said, but he had a soft smile. They had long since decided that this was the way it would always be between them. And with his new position as Duncan’s second, he finally felt a little more worthy of her. 

He bent then to straighten her skirt, then took a step back to admire her completely before grinning and shaking his head.

“Maker, I might take you right here,” he teased, and she met him with heated eyes.

“Is that so?” she murmured. He looked away.

“Maker, Eideann, don’t, or I will. I mean it. I can hardly help myself.” 

She smiled and he reached to the vanity where a coronet of silver and gold lay atop a veil of sheer silver net embroidered with gold. Then, ever so gently, he settled them in place, and breathed a soft sigh. She glanced to the mirror again, adjusting it ever so slightly, then wet her lips.

“What do you think?” she asked, and he realized she was nervous. He gave a soft laugh, fixing her with a smoldering look. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” he told her, and meant ever word. She sank back into a seat on her bed, considering him. 

“You’re sure this is alright?” she asked him for almost the thousandth time. He carefully knelt before her, taking her hands in his, and gazing up.

“Eideann,” he murmured, and she met his gaze. They did not need to speak the words. Both of them already knew. 

He kissed both her hands then before she bent over him to kiss his mouth instead, her veil falling about them both. And he kissed her back, hungrily, his hands brushing down the silk of her silver and gold skirts, until he found the hem.

He slipped his hands up, and she broke the kiss, laughing and shaking her head. He simply gave her a wicked little smirk and then let his hands climb up her legs, over the soft skin of her thighs beneath her skirts, until at last they reached the core of her, and she gasped a soft breath, tipping back her head. 

“Alistair…” she breathed. “Now of all times?” 

“You are as much mine as his,” he told her in a very quiet voice, smiling at the pleasure in her voice as his fingers stroked her center. She gave a low moan and he pressed his head against her knee, slipping his fingers inside her as her hands reached back to hold her weight sitting. “I had you first six years ago, and I shall have you first today, at least in this,” he told her softly, and slid her silken skirts up over her legs and kissed the inside of her thighs. She gave a soft laugh, breathless, and opened more to him. He pressed a kiss against her center, tasting her on his lips, and then drew back, glancing up to her. He smiled slightly at the flush on her cheeks and then carefully lowered her skirts again, smoothing them down. 

“Alistair,” she murmured, shaking her head, giving him a sly smirk, and then she reached for his hands. He caught them and kissed them and sighed. “Come with us later?” she asked. He hesitated at that, but she caught his concern and bent forward to meet his eyes, her own gaze deep and quiet. “I want you there, Alistair. Both of you.” He smiled slightly, bowing his head, and then quietly rose, helping her to rise too, and adjusted her gown about her until it lay neat again. And then he glanced up to her.

“If you are certain, my Lady,” he said softly. She lowered her chin a little, looking up at him through his lashes and he pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes a moment. “It’s almost time…”

“Walk with me?” 

“Your lady-in-waiting, am I?” he smiled, and then nodded against her before drawing back. “Of course I will. We’re both going to the same place after all.” She smiled, and then reached for her bouquet, the brilliant red roses and blue ribbon spilling before her silver and gold gown as she took his hand in one of hers. “Eideann,” Alistair said quietly, “you’ll make a brilliant Queen.” She simply smiled, eyes a little glassy with emotion, and blinked a few times before she could meet his eyes.

“Thank you.”

***

Her hands were shaking as she stood alone before the doors into the chamber. She knew that nobility from across Thedas were gathered there to see that union, visiting dignitaries from as far abroad as Antiva and Nevarra, Marchers and Orlesians. And of course every noble in Ferelden was there, waiting to see their King wed again in the wake of his annulment from Anora.

She drew a deep breath, thinking again of Alistair and Cailan, nervous and feeling a bit sick from the butterflies in her stomach. Alistair had gone to join the crowds, to stand beside the Grey Wardens. Eideann thought of his hands, his gentle kiss in the most intimate of place, and caught her breath a little, closing her eyes.

“Ready, Your Ladyship?” a servant said quietly by the door, and she tightened her grip on her cascade of roses, Alistair’s gift to her. She bowed her head a moment, then opened her eyes and nodded quietly. 

“I’m ready.” The servant moved to open the doors, and all beyond was silence. Eideann stepped out into the room.

The chamber was lined with spectators and guests, and all eyes were on her. She felt immediately alone, more alone than she had ever felt, and took a few deep breaths before carefully taking the path between them. She did not dare look to either side, to the crowds, for fear she would stop and be unable to continue. So instead, she let her gaze float up to the top of the dais, amidst the silver and gold clad guardsmen, to fix on Cailan. 

He almost seemed to shine, standing in the pool of light that poured through the windows. His lips were parted, and she recognized the look on his face as the same one Alistair had given her earlier in her chambers. She felt the slightest of blushes heat her cheeks and swallowed, focusing only on him. 

He wore gold ceremonial armor, a pauldron on one shoulder and his Theirin cloak beneath. Atop his head was the King’s crown, glimmering in the light. She saw him draw a deep breath.

_He’s as nervous as I am,_ she thought, and then the slightest of smiles touched her lips and she had to bow her head a little to keep it to herself. When she looked back up, he was smiling at her.

Slowly she climbed the steps to join him, and he reached out a hand to her as she approached. She shifted her bouquet to a single hand and then slipped her fingers into his, feeling his own hand shaking a little, and she drew up beside him. She offered him a shy little smile.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he murmured to her, taking the few steps to stand before Ferelden’s Grand Cleric. The Grand Cleric looked between them and began.

She recognized the words, ancient rites as old as the Chantry itself, traditional vows and promises to bind them together as one. Or two. Or was it three. She smiled a little to herself, heart pounding, and carefully repeated the words that thousands of lovers had said before her, there before all the peers of the realm. 

"I, Teyrna Eideann Haelia Eleanor Cousland of Highever, take thee, Cailan Theirin, to be my wedded Husband and King, with all your faults and strengths, to join with you and share all that is to come. I promise to love thee wholly and without restraint, by the life that courses within my blood, and the love that resides within my heart, in life and Beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I will love, honor, and respect you all the days of my life, by the Maker's grace." And then, Cailan’s hand closed tight on hers.

"I, King Cailan Jacen Rendorn Vanedrin Theirin of Ferelden, take thee, Eideann Cousland, to be my wedded Wife and Queen, with all your faults and strengths, to join with you and share all that is to come. I promise to love thee wholly and without restraint, by the life that courses within my blood, and the love that resides within my heart, in life and Beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I will love, honor, and respect you all the days of my life, by the Maker's grace." His eyes slipped to her and he turned, those silver gaze meeting her Cousland Blues, and the Grand Cleric called out the final words. 

“You have declared your consent before the presiding Grand Cleric of the Chantry. May the Maker’s Light fill you both with his blessings.” She glanced to Cailan, a small smile flickering on her old features. “Your Majesty, you may kiss your bride.” 

Cailan drew a breath, a soft smile at the corner of his lips, and then carefully ran a hand along her cheek before pulling her mouth to his, soft and sweet and tender. And Eideann felt it flood her with warmth, with love. She drew back, a little breathless, and smiled as he turned with her then towards their subjects. And together they descended the steps.

The crowd came to join them, cheers and applause and well wishes flung from all corners of the room. Eideann wrapped her arm through Cailan’s and could not keep the smile from her face. Her eyes scanned the crowd as the nobility drew close, bowing and ceremonial in their acceptance of her as Queen, and then her gaze settled on Alistair, and she smiled softly. Then she turned to Cailan, gently beckoning him down so she could whisper in his ear.

“I want Alistair with us tonight…” He glanced to her, met her eyes, his own sparkling.

“As my Lady commands,” he said softly, and then his eyes flickered up to Alistair standing with the Grey Wardens, and he smiled, his eyes dark and mischievous. 

The reception was a riot of music and color, dancing and food and song. The ballroom doors were thrown open for the largest celebration Ferelden’s Royal Palace had seen in years. The nobility toasted them, and the foreign dignitaries and friends alike brought gifts in celebration. Cailan introduced her to those she did not already know, calling her Queen Eideann, and never once did he let go of her hand during those introductions, there for all to see. She was no King’s Mistress anymore. 

They dined on pheasants, drank Antivan brandy and heady Orlesian wines. And then Cailan pulled her to the dance floor, grinning, and called for the minstrels to play. 

He was sturdy and warm, holding her in his arms, and he kissed her hand before settling into the rhythm of the song. He led her across the floor, poised and court-trained, and her skirts billowed about her as they twirled and spun across the carpets. He had eyes only for her, and she for him, unable to keep from laughing as they sped across the floor. It was some Orlesian dance, tight and a little scandalous, form-fitting and close enough for quiet whispers. In one of those moments, he bent to catch her in small kiss.

“We shall have to call you the Flame of Ferelden now, my Queen,” he murmured, and she looked away, cheeks blushing. “Can you feel them watching you, wanting you?” She shook her head.

“You’re terrible.”

“I love you,” he breathed, and she met his silver gaze.

“I know,” she replied, soft and gentle, coming to rest, skirts swishing about her, as the song ended. And then she reached her arms up to pull his head down a little as she went up on her tiptoes to reach. “I love you too.”

Their mouths met like fire, all passion and need, and she surrendered to it, that feeling, that love, that lust. His arms, still tight about her from the dancing, held her all the more closer, until finally he pulled away a little and gave a gentle chuckle.

“Minx,” he murmured, a little hoarsely, and she grinned, stepping back. 

“You enjoy it,” she told him with a sly look, and he gave her a small bow.

“Of course.” He led her back towards the table then, amidst the clapping nobility, and did not care what they thought or how they would perceive such madness. And then he glanced towards the guests, and gave his little smirk. “I think we might be able to slip away without them noticing now,” he added as though it were an afterthought. She smiled, pursing her lips, and he drew her back towards the doors. He was wrong. The hall erupted in cheers and more clapping, and she flushed bright red until he caught the door and led them through.

And then her embarrassment faded, as he caught her in his arms, and kissed her there in the hall, full and fierce. She pulled him closer, needing more, a fire alight within her. When they finally parted, they were both of them panting softly, the only sound in the hall. 

She explored his features with her gaze, rainy gaze settling on sparkling silver, the Theirin nose and brow and jaw. And then she reached up to touch his hair with one hand, and he leaned into it, smiling and closing his eyes.

“Maker,” he breathed, “what have I done to deserve you?” and she gave a soft giggle, warmth flooding through her. 

“Clearly something awful,” she replied softly, and he chuckled before pressing their foreheads together and breathing in deeply. 

“I can’t wait any more,” he told her, voice thick with desire. So she caught his hand and carefully led him along the corridor towards the royal chambers nestled in the back corner of the house.

She pushed the door open gently, entering the royal apartments, a series of rooms with a small study, a living space, and the King and Queen’s chambers. A fire was crackling in the hearth just beyond, casting deep shadows across the interior wood-lined walls adorned with tapestries and fine paintings. And there, gazing quietly into the flames, was Alistair, a snifter of brandy cupped in his hand. He looked up at the sound of their entrance, clad now only in his Grey Warden tunic, his armor racked and gone. And he smiled.

“If you want me to go, I will,” he said, first as last, and Eideann glanced to Cailan, who laughed when he saw who it was. 

“Maker’s blood, Little Brother, even here we can’t escape you,” he said before carefully turning to shut the door. Alistair turned to them, raising an eyebrow, and Eideann crossed to him, reaching out with her hands for his. It was soft and warm in hers, and she sighed as it caught her own. He smelled like sweetness and now a little like brandy, and his eyes shone like gold in the firelight.

Cailan came to join them too, wrapping his arms about Eideann’s waist from the back and bending to kiss her neck softly. 

“What do you think?” he asked in a low, thick voice. “Shall we take our time?” Alistair’s eyes crept to his, and he downed the rest of his brandy for courage before grinning himself.

“All the time in the world,” he agreed. Eideann felt a flutter of something settle deep within her, and drew a shaking breath, wetting her lips.

These two had so much power over her, the ability to turn her head and make her reckless with want and desire. She remembered Alistair’s kiss at her center beneath her skirts and bit at her lower lip, need blossoming inside her, a spreading warmth that eclipsed all else and made her feel languid and hot. Alistair drew a little closer, and bent his head to gently catch her lips in his own. 

“Please,” she heard herself murmur for both of them. “Please, I want this to last.” Alistair gave a low hum in the back of his throat and then gently moved to take the veil and crown from her hair. Cailan kissed the nape of her neck again, and then he gently pulled away. She could hear his breathing. 

She looked back, eyes dark and flooded with desire and need. 

“I know, darling,” he whispered, catching her chin with his hand and planting a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “It will.” She reached as he drew back again, and then panicked and reached for Alistair as he too stepped away a little, catching both their hands in hers and looking between them. 

_No. Stay here._

She felt like the sea was washing over her, the ebb and flow of passion threatening to pull her under as she sought to understand what it was that was coursing in her blood. 

Alistair smiled ever so softly, and shook his head, returning to her side and leaning until their foreheads touched.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” he whispered, already understanding, already knowing the words she needed to say that she couldn’t aloud, and she melted a little into his touch. 

“Please…stay…I love you,” she breathed, closing her eyes and feeling the strength of his arms about her.

“So do I,” she heard behind him, Cailan’s voice, soft and quiet, and Alistair looked up a little, giving a gentle smirk. 

“You have to,” he simply teased before drawing a deep breath and fixing Eideann with that molten gold gaze. “Ah, my love…” he murmured, then tenderly kissed her again. “We’re both going to stay. I promise. For as long as you want us here.” And then something in her eased, like she had fit herself through a tight space and suddenly made it through to the other side, and the world opened up and she felt like she was falling. She closed her eyes, shaking a little, giving a relieved sigh. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt Cailan’s hands careful on the back of her gown, undoing the fastenings with practiced hands. 

“And we love you,” Alistair murmured, his mouth trailing down her jaw, and his hands moved to carefully pull the pins from her hair and set them aside. 

She blinked up at him, and then felt the final fastening come loose at her back. Cailan’s hands were warm and gentle as he slipped them under the silver silk and slid it from her shoulders. Alistair’s hands caught the fabric, and together they both laid her bare, peeling away the fine gown until it dropped to the floor in a luxurious heap and glimmered with the light from the fire. 

Cailan’s hands crept about her, cupping her breasts as he leaned in to kiss at her neck.

“You’re beautiful, Eideann,” he murmured, breath hot against her ear. She shuddered at it, tipping her head back.

Alistair bent to pull away her dress and then carefully drape it across the back of the chair. And then his hands were also on her, tracing lines down her hips as he sank to his knees in front of her. He was gentle then, pulling her leg up onto his shoulder and kissing the inside of her thigh, smiling into her flesh as she gave a low gasp.

“Finishing what you started?” she murmured, and he moved to carefully place a kiss at her center. She felt the heat, the sensation of him gently coaxing her open for him, and was flooded with that familiar heat. 

She gave a low moan, and Cailan helped to take some of her weight, shaking his head against her shoulder as he rained kisses at her neck and jaw. 

“The Chantry boy is learning,” he chuckled. “Don’t stop, Alistair.” Alistair did pull back a little then, but his fingers found her center instead, slick and wet with her need. He gently coaxed her open, and a soft moan escaped her. 

“Alistair…” When she finally looked down at him, he was watching her face, eyes sparkling a little, and then finally he pulled away, rising, to press a soft kiss against her mouth. 

“My Lady,” he replied, barely above a whisper. Her eyes were flooded with tears, and she couldn’t see, and she reached her arms up to cling to him, and he gathered her up tight in his own arms as Cailan drew back.

“Always stealing her away from me,” she heard the King say, but his tone was lighthearted, and then she drew a shaking breath and tipped her head up to kiss at Alistair’s neck. 

“I love you,” she gasped, needing to keep saying it. “I love you.” He simply wove his hands into her hair a moment, and then turned to breathe deeply of her scent. 

“And I love you,” he whispered for her alone, and then he glanced up. “Come, let’s move this elsewhere.” She pulled herself from him then, wincing at the loss of him, and her hand wove into Cailan’s as he led her towards the bedchamber – his, not the Queen’s, even though that was now hers. The entire room was covered in scarlet and furs, a dark wood four-poster bed at the center atop a plush carpet. Candles flickered in the corners, the only light, casting deep and heavy shadows across the entire room. 

Cailan carefully settled her on the bed, leaning to kiss her until she finally lay back and closed her eyes with a laugh. She heard the chamber door close and knew that to be Alistair. 

When she opened her eyes again, Cailan was standing at the foot of the bed, carefully working off his armor. Eideann, determined to do something, reached up her hands to help, tugging unhelpfully at the buckles until he laughed and pushed her away. 

“Cailan!” she breathed in protest, catching her lower lip between her teeth. Alistair simply laughed in response and reached to lean against the four poster and consider her with smoldering eyes. Cailan’s own sparkled with amusement like the dancing waves of the Waking Sea after all the storms had passed. She smiled and felt the heat crawling into her cheeks again to know they were watching her. 

And then Cailan let his armor fall, and he dragged his silk tunic over his head and cast that carelessly aside as well, and then he turned to Alistair. And what happened next made Eideann gasp again and give a low groan. She was not alone.

Cailan closed the distance between himself and Alistair, setting their bowed heads together and reaching for the sash that went over the Grey Warden tunic. Alistair stared, wide-eyed, and when Cailan drew back, he was panting, lips parted, confused, clothes in disarray.

“Maker…Cailan…”

“Still a novice,” Cailan said with a smirk, and let the sash fall to the floor between them as Alistair’s own hands picked up where he left off, shedding the rest. Cailan helped him, just as he had that first time in the tent long ago, setting their foreheads together again. When at last Alistair’s tunic came free, Cailan looked up, eyes sparkling, before leaning to catch Alistair in a light-hearted kiss.

Alistair drew back, staring, and Cailan gave a wicked grin. 

“I had to try it, just this once,” the King said. Alistair just shook his head, heaving a sigh.

“Maker, you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he grumbled, but a small smirk was playing at the corner of his lips and he was a little breathless himself. Cailan just smirked and turned and gave him a sultry look.

“Yes, but you taste like her.”

Eideann gave a low moan and a soft laugh and closed her eyes again.

“Cailan,” she said again, reaching in his direction, panting softly. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her entire body was slowly burning up with desperation. He caught her hand and pressed his lips to it, and she heard more clothes fall to the floor.

“Yes my Queen?” His voice was like satin, smooth and soft.

“Please,” she breathed… “please…I want…” She didn’t know. She didn’t have the words. Something. Anything. More of what had been. More of how they had done this before. Something else. Something new. 

Them. She wanted _them_. Both, her lovers, her Theirin Princes.

“Please,” she said again. “I love you…please…” It rang through her soul, there for them both.

“I know,” Cailan said gently, a soft laugh in his voice. “I know what you want.” And then she felt the weight of them both joining her on the bed, and she pushed herself further up into the blankets, the mattress soft beneath her. She looked up and saw Cailan above her, eyes locking on hers. All the silver in the moon hung in that gaze, and then her eyes slipped to Alistair, who had settled beside her, and his gaze was as fiery as the sun, and she laughed.

“Silver and gold,” she breathed, and Alistair caught her hand and kissed it softly. 

And then she felt Cailan push against her, sliding inside, until heat flooded through her again and she felt filled and tight. And tears welled at the corner of her eyes as she met his. 

“I love you.” He just smiled, tender and gentle, like Alistair did, and something settled soft and quiet inside her heart – a promise.

“And we love you,” he told her softly. And then he moved, and she felt him there, stroking within her, hot and hard, all fire within her. Her hand closed tight about Alistair’s, and she surrendered to it, to them both, crying out her pleasure. And the tears slipped from her eyes, quiet and delicate.

Cailan went slow, so slow it almost hurt, and she moaned with each thrust as it pressed deep inside her. Her heart was beating, and she could feel his too though every place they touched, and she could feel every callous on Alistair’s swordsman’s hands as he held hers in both of his. 

And then Cailan caught her mouth in his, tasting like wine and love, and she moaned before he carefully pulled away. He sat back, panting, and she could see he wanted more of her, of this, of them, but she bit at her lip again, meeting his gaze. His eyes flickered to Alistair, and she smiled, recognizing the tender concern there. And she turned over to Alistair, who blinked, then gave a low growl as she caught his mouth in a deep kiss and pushed him into the pillows, straddling him. 

Her fingers moved to curl about his hardness, and he gave a heavy moan as he bucked into her hand, desperate and wanting. She closed her eyes a moment, forehead on his, and then kissed him softly again before sitting up. She felt Cailan catch her in his arms, cradling her body in his own, and she turned her head to kiss him, panting. Her fingers stroked Alistair, who moaned beneath her. 

“Maker…” he gasped.

And then Cailan gave a low growl, reaching around and closing his hand tight over her own about Alistair. “Like this,” he said in a low voice, murmured in her ear, and then led her, stroking harder, firmer, faster. 

“…Fuck…” Alistair moaned, shaking under their hands, and Eideann turned her gaze on the Grey Warden to watch him, panting, as Cailan held her close against his chest. 

“There,” Cailan smirked at the language. “That’s better.” Alistair’s eyes opened a crack and he stared up at them both.

“Oh, holy Maker,” he groaned, and then gritted his teeth. “Please…” So Cailan gently pulled his hand away and loosened his grip about Eideann, letting her carefully straddle Alistair’s hips and guide his hardness inside her. Alistair went in easily, slipping through her wetness, and as he nestled within her, they both of them moaned. And then Eideann glanced back to her husband behind her.

“Cailan,” she said, breathless and heated. “Please?” And he nodded. 

She leaned forward then, burying her face in Alistair’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arms about her, and then she felt Cailan pushing inside her as well. A cry escaped her, muffled into Alistair’s flesh, as unbearable heat made its own room inside her. 

“I love you,” Eideann gasped again as Cailan paused above her, kissing a soft trail across her spine. “Both of you. My Theirin Princes.” 

It was Alistair who moved, folding her in his arms and then rocking his hips. Cailan groaned in surprise and pleasure both. And then both of the Theirins were moving together, and Eideann’s world erupted into fire, like she was going to die from the heat of it all. 

Everything shattered. Tears spilled out, and she moaned loud, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but drown in their love and their lovemaking, as all the world came apart. 

She felt heat flood within her, felt Alistair tense, and then Cailan lean forward, both of them crying out. And it was a long time before she remembered how to breathe, and longer still before the world slowly swam back to her.

She was sobbing for breath, nestled in both their arms, unable to open her eyes. She focused first on breathing, and when finally she could do that enough to think, she breathed them both in deeply, their contrasting scents, and her nestled between. And then she carefully moved her cheek, wiping her tears across Alistair’s shoulder – it had to be him, because he reached up to gently wipe them away too with a weary hand the way only he did, and then kiss her forehead.

Cailan groaned on her other side, and buried his face in her hair, his panting tickling her neck as he wrapped her up in his arms.

“Eideann,” he murmured. “My Queen. My love.” She stirred a little and carefully reached for his hand, wrapping her own about his where it lay about her waist. 

“My Princes,” she breathed back.

“Fuck,” Alistair just said again, and then gave a weary laugh. He made as if to move, to go, but she caught him quickly, fingers tight on his wrist. 

“No,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting the molten gold there. “No…stay…” 

“In the King’s bed?” he asked in a gentle whisper, kissing her lips gently. She shook her head, as Cailan gave a soft groan against her neck. 

“No,” she told him. “In _our_ bed, my Knight.” Alistair just settled back, nuzzling her forehead and then leaving a soft kiss there. 

“As my Lady commands,” he said quietly, and Cailan reached to catch Alistair’s hand, hold it down across Eideann’s hip, fingers entwined together. Eideann smiled, her breathing finally returning to normal, and nuzzled deeper into Alistair, feeling Cailan draw closer against her back as she did so. “One day,” Alistair murmured, though he did not otherwise move, “you’ll tire of this. When that day comes, you need only tell me to go.” She simply smirked and kissed the nearest skin she could find, his arm, shaking her head against him.

“No,” she said, heart swollen with love, body exhausted from pleasure, “Theirin Princes always have my favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who like my writing style or really want to see more Eideann Cousland, her original story can be found by following the link below:
> 
> [DANCES IN DARKNESS: Book 1 - Eideann](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3721120/chapters/8241325)


	16. All Our Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is summoned to court by Cailan; Cailan and Eideann try to convince Alistair to stick around; a few important letters arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome ;)
> 
> Hopeless has convinced this to go another three chapters, so this is for all of you. It's her fault. :P ~HR

Alistair slipped from his horse and glanced up at the stone towers of the Royal Palace, heaving a sigh of relief to be home. Ever since the Blight, he had split his time between the reclaimed Warden base of Soldier’s Peak and his quarters in the Royal Palace where he served as liaison to the crown on all Grey Warden matters. Duncan was no fool, and he saw a good ally when he needed one. Alistair was young yet, and the Grey Warden numbers flourishing. As Constable of the Grey he had significant authority to follow up on leads from Denerim and also engage in recruitment from local talent. Denerim was the most populous of cities after all.

But those last few months he had been away, deep in the depths of Orzammar and the Deep Roads, helping to lead an excursion led by House Helmi to reclaim the lost Ortan Thaig. He had gone because of his rank, both in the Wardens and Ferelden, as an honor to the dwarves. But there was nothing like a stint in the Deep Roads with a company of Wardens and a fully armed Legion to make the surface sweet again. He would be glad to never go back.

Alistair swung his saddlebags over his shoulder and then he turned the reins over to the groom near the Palace District gates. The man tipped his hat, and Alistair thanked him with a small smile before climbing the steps up towards the first terrace.

For all it was home, however, he had actually been summoned this time. Cailan had sent a missive to Duncan at Soldier’s Peak regarding some Convocation that was planned. Duncan had been rather circumspect in his explanation, like usual, but summoned or no, Denerim was home, and it had been since he had gone to the Chantry at age ten. 

Better, everyone he loved was there. 

He did not go directly to the Palace gates. Instead he crossed the square and let himself into a small shop. As the door swung open, a gentle bell rang out across the small interior. A woman in green and yellow silk bustled through a back door and into the shop, and when she caught sight of him, a smile split her face. She pushed her way through rows of flowers and into the space behind her counter. 

“Prince Alistair,” she said with a smile, and he did not correct her after the years he’d spent hearing it. She bent down over her counter. “The usual order?”

“Please,” he said, drawing forth a few silvers.

“Blue ribbon?” the woman asked, giving him a wink and drawing it forth. She knew as well as he that was never going to change. “One day you’ll tell me why.” 

“It is a lady’s favor,” he said, smiling slightly. She smiled and then bustled past him, going to a small display where she returned with a long-stemmed rose. She trimmed it carefully, not too much, an expert at it by now, and then tied the ribbon carefully about it before glancing to the trimmings. She gathered them up, excepting a single rosebud, which she also tied with blue ribbon and held them both to him.

“The little one is free of charge,” she said with a smile, taking his silver and pocketing it. “I wish you and the lady well.” He gave a slight courtly bow – he had been getting better at it over the years – and then picked up both the rose and the rosebud and let himself back out.

At the Palace he was met by a Commander Bradach, who had taken over as the Commander of the Royal Guard. He pushed the door open for Alistair, holding it to admit him, and gave a soldier’s bow.

“Constable,” he said with a smile.

“It’s good to see you, Bradach,” Alistair replied, but did not linger, eager suddenly to see everyone. The Landsmeet chamber was empty, as it was so early in the morning, so he crossed it and listened to his echoing footsteps up in the eaves. And at last he drew close to the door to the private apartments, relieved to finally be back, wondering if anyone was awake and if it was too early yet for breakfast.

He pushed the door open into the corridor carefully, inching in, and then carefully shut it behind him. He had almost made it down to his own chambers before he heard the sound of scurrying footsteps. He had barely a second to set down his bag before a mop of blonde curls shot around the corner, framing a face of grins and large rainy eyes. A smile caught his cheeks, and he crouched just in time to catch the creature as it dove into his arms. 

“Uncle Alistair!” 

“Ella.” He gathered her up in his arms, spinning her about. She gave an outrageous laugh, and he flattened the pink silk of her skirts down as he held her, tapping the end of her nose. “Is everyone else asleep? Let’s be quiet.” He pressed his finger against his lips then, and that earned a giggle that echoed down the hall. He smirked and shook his head.

“Not Mama,” Ella said, her rainy gaze sparkling in a way he knew and loved. Alistair smiled and set her mad curls to rights on her head. She reached forward and petted down his hair like she were fixing that. “I drawed a picture,” she told him as she worked. “Of a griffon.” 

“Ella,” a soft sigh came from the corner, “Maker’s breath, there you are.” 

“Maker’s breath,” Ella replied, wrapping her arms about Alistair and turning her head into his neck. He looked up, eyes settling on Eideann standing at the end of the corridor. He glanced to the girl, then to the Queen, and smiled, his gaze meeting hers across the distance. 

“My Lady,” he said softly, carefully prying Ella from his neck and gently setting her down. He crouched to the girl, who clung to his knee, and tapped her nose again. “Why don’t _you_ go tell your Father that I am here, and if he does not wake up, I will eat all of his breakfast.” Ella grew a wicked grin and nodded, then went hurtling off back past Eideann who watched her go like she was going to say something before sighing. 

Alistair shook his head, gathering his bags and the roses, and coming to join her.

He held out the long-stemmed rose, which she took with a knowing smile, and then leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

“You’re as radiant as ever,” he told her. “Maker, I’ve missed you.” She smiled, eyes sparkling like Ella’s, and he carefully reached to brush the flat of his palm over her belly, swollen beneath her gown. “Can we handle another?” he laughed quietly, and she bent her head, catching his hand and holding it there against her. 

“Who knows?” she chuckled. And then he carefully drew back, wary of Ella returning. He heard her calling down the hall.

“Papa! Papa! Uncle Alistair’s back! You have no breakfast!” And he heard a soft groan from the chambers beyond. He laughed.

“Maker’s breath,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s so early. Where does she get all the energy?” Eideann just looked a little tired and drawn as she sighed and shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she replied quietly, then glanced to him, her smile slipping. “How was Orzammar?”

“Bleak and political,” he replied, offering her his arm, which she took, and leading her back down the hall. “And full of blighted things. I don’t want to discuss it further. It’s good to be home.” 

They paused at the doorway to the royal apartments where Ella tumbled through the door of the King’s bedchamber, heaving with all her might on Cailan’s hand, dragging him out into the early sunlight. Cailan looked like he had been defeated, and he wore only a scarlet robe over a white shirt and simple trousers. 

“Papa! Look!” Ella hauled on his arm again and then pointed towards Alistair and Eideann in the doorway, and Cailan straightened, giving a small smile and then sweeping Ella from the carpet into his arms.

“I’m looking, I’m looking, Little Fire,” he laughed and crossed to join them. Alistair moved to gently tuck the rosebud with its blue ribbon behind Ella’s ear. 

“For you, Princess,” he said with a smile, and her eyes went wide with delight. She squirmed until Cailan put her down and then took off again across the room. Cailan watched her wearily, then glanced back to Alistair, embracing him in a large hug before reaching for Eideann’s hand. 

“It’s good to have you back.”

“You summoned me,” Alistair said pointedly, glancing to him askance. Ella came hurrying back, a paper in her hands. She held it up to him in both hands, eyes shining. 

“Uncle Alistair, my picture!” He reached for it, a hastily scribbled mass of nothing, and made an impressed face.

“That is a magnificent griffon!” he informed her, smiling down, and she beamed back.

“For you!” she declared, and then pulled at the bottom of Cailan’s robes. “Papa, up.” Cailan obliged and sighed, hauling her up into his arms again, where she buried her head on his shoulder. He gently pulled the rosebud from her hair and held it for her. Ella clasped it in one small hand and peered at them all from his arms.

“Have you eaten?” Cailan asked quietly, and Alistair shook his head. 

“I’ll send for more breakfast,” Eideann said with a small smile, and Cailan shook his head.

“I’ll go, and take this terror with me.” Ella tangled her fingers into his long hair and he winced before grinning. “See you shortly.” He glanced to the girl in his arms and then smirked before catching her tight and tickling her, sending her into a wave of riotous laughter that echoed down the halls again.

Alistair and Eideann watched him carry the squirming girl out, and then Eideann looked back to Alistair, holding her rose in both hands. 

“Thank you,” she said as he carefully set down Ella’s drawing with his bags on one of the chairs before the fireplace. He could move it to his own chambers later. He just shook his head and then moved to kiss her mouth softly. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, drawing back carefully. “All of you.” She just laughed, carefully setting her rose down on the table where the ribbons fell over the edges. 

“And we have missed you, particularly Ella.” 

“She’s a handful, I see,” he smiled, and then caught her hands. “But you seem happy. If tired.” She held them a moment, then carefully reached to press her hand back over her large belly and sighed.

“Always tired,” she laughed. “Between the three of us, you think that there’d be at least one set of grandparents to help. Teagan has been about though, and she adores him.” She smiled and looked to him. “Not as much as she adores you, though.” He smiled and shook his head, glancing away.

“Uncle Alistair,” he lamented. “Always here for fun and games. Sometimes she makes the darkspawn seem easy to handle.” Eideann chuckled and took his arm again, drawing him towards another kiss before leading him carefully to the door.

“You’re as much her father as he is. I couldn’t tell if I tried, but sometimes she has your smile.” 

“And sometimes she definitely has his,” he grinned. “It doesn’t matter. What is important is that she is _yours_ , that she is _ours_. If I have to be Uncle Alistair for that…” He sighed. “What is this Convocation, Eideann?” She just gave him a wry look and shook her head.

“Cailan wants to tell you himself,” she said quietly, and refused to say more. “Come, walk with me. Let us find some breakfast before Ella comes back to find us.” 

“The horror,” Alistair grinned, but led her slowly through the corridors. 

Ella and Cailan were already seated at the table in the small private parlor that served for more intimate meals. Ella was bouncing in her seat, while Cailan was trying to coax her to sit still. Alistair led Eideann to her chair, pulling it out for her and helping her sit, and Cailan reached for her hand, glancing at her with a little concern which she allayed with a gentle smile. 

Alistair took a seat beside Ella, leaning conspiratorially over to her and stilling her with a look. She grinned and reached with her hands for the toast on her plate, a single piece, smothered in honey. She had to hold it in both hands, and as she went to bite, smeared the honey all over her face. Alistair reached for his own toast and his eyes flickered up to Eideann and Cailan. They were watching him, amused, so he smirked back.

“So, you really just summoned me back here to have me look after her,” he grinned. Eideann glanced to Cailan, gently squeezing his hand, then reached to pour some of the sweet tea from the table into the cup before her. Alistair watched her fill the cup with a little honey, then looked to his brother who sighed.

“The Convocation is for you,” Cailan said softly. “Something we should have done a long time ago, and something that needs to be done.” Alistair blinked, smile fading, and heaped some jam onto his toast.

“For me?” he said flatly, ignoring Ella smearing her honeyed toast all over her face for a moment to eat his own. 

“It’s a legitimization,” Cailan said quietly. “A formal recognition.” Alistair paused, lowering his toast, and gave the pair of them a fierce look.

“Maker’s breath,” he finally said. “What?” 

“Maker’s breath!” Ella announced sharply, and glanced at him with big large eyes. It was Eideann’s eyes looking at him in that small face, and the slightest of smiles curved his mouth for the briefest of instances because he could not help it. And then he looked back to the two seated across the table. 

“I know that you do not want that title,” Cailan said quietly, “ but it _is_ yours.” 

“It isn’t just that. I’m a Grey Warden. I can’t be – ”

“Uncle Alistair, help,” Ella said, holding up a hand sticky with honey. He sighed, setting down his toast and taking up the cloth napkin beside her plate, wiping the honey from her face. Ella leaned into the napkin and put up a hand to help him hold it, mostly just getting in the way. He set the napkin down and she promptly smeared honey across her face again as she took another bite of her toast. He sighed.

“Look, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate the offer,” he said quietly, but Eideann’s eyes met him, serene and gentle across the corridor.

“There are those who call you Prince Alistair even over your Grey Warden title. We want to make this official, and it is partly in recognition of all you have done, that is true. But it is also because, if something should happen…” Her gaze narrowed a little, and she glanced a moment at Ella, then sighed, looking back. “If something were to happen, we want to be sure that she is not left alone. Until she reaches her majority, you would be her regent.” 

“Surely Arl Eamon is better, or Bann Teagan, or anyone,” he said, feeling a flicker of fear. He could _not_ rule a country. And anyway, he _was_ a Grey Warden.

“This isn’t about Ferelden,” Eideann said quietly.

“It is about our daughter,” Cailan said, and it was clear he included Alistair in that. Alistair glanced between them suspiciously. 

“Why now?” he asked quietly. “It’s been almost three years since the Blight. What has scared you enough to do this now?” 

“Cailan almost died in the Blight,” Eideann said quietly, eyes skimming to the King a moment. “We wanted to give you time, and the people time, to come to terms with it. The last vestiges of the Blight are now finally slipping away, thanks to you. And more and more people call you Prince Alistair Theirin when they see you, instead of that Warden title.” She wet her lips, meeting his eyes. “With that legitimacy, you would have a position on Cailan’s council, a voice in the Landsmeet for the Wardens if you so choose, and you would be stationed here more often, though of course you are free to travel as you will.”

“And if I don’t want that recognition?” he asked her. “I’m not a Prince, Eideann. You know that. I never was.” She just gave him a secretive smile, shaking her head.

“You were always my Prince,” she told him quietly.

“Is Uncle Alistair’s party today?” Ella said beside them abruptly, her hands coated in honey again, like she had been sticking her hands in the pot itself rather than simply eating toast. Cailan groaned and took up the napkin, scooping her from her chair towards a small basin sitting in the corner on a low table. 

“Not today, now come and let me wipe your hands.” There was the sound of him pouring water, and then Ella held up her hands as he scrubbed at the honey with the now damp napkin.

Eideann gave a sigh, then glanced back to Alistair, her hands resting across her stomach again.

“And yes,” she said quietly, “you would be able to help raise our daughter, and this new child as well.” She bowed her head a little, gaze flickering down to her hands. “I want you to be here when this one is born.” 

He had missed Ella’s birth, only arrived several weeks later. Word had never reached him in the Deep Roads. The news had gotten to Orzammar and no further. He had to admit it was that final plea that struck a chord. He hated the Deep Roads, like most people with any sense, and if he never had to return it would be too soon. He had years yet before he went to his Calling. He grimaced. In Eideann’s eyes he saw the same thing he had seen on her wedding night, the fear and the need. 

_Stay. Don’t go._

“I suppose I can’t just say no,” he said simply. “Does Duncan know? Is that what was in the letter?” 

“I wrote that myself,” Cailan explained, holding Ella against him as he wiped her face clean. “And yes, he knows. I told him that if he felt it inappropriate, not to send you. The fact you’re here means he approves.” He glanced back, holding fast to Ella’s arms and she struggled against him, making a face. “Alistair, if you truly don’t want this…”

“You’ve made your case,” Alistair said, shaking his head. Eideann reached for her tea, watching him carefully. “I thought we were done giving things up for the sake of others, but apparently that never ends.” Across the table he could see the amusement in Eideann’s eyes. “So be it, Prince it is. This time for real, right?” 

“Mama!” Ella called and Eideann looked over with raised eyebrows at her now scrubbed clean daughter as Cailan let her escape his grip and sighed, tossing down the napkin alongside the basin of water. Ella went running to Eideann, clutching at her gown, and Eideann curled her arm about the girl, stroking down her hair absentmindedly. 

“Thank you,” she said to Alistair, and he saw the love and the relief in her eyes, and smiled slightly.

“Maker, Eideann, you could ask me to lay down my life and I would,” he told her quietly. “And you know it.” Ella’s large eyes mirrored her mother’s as she peered at him over the edge of the table.

“Uncle Alistair will stay?’ she asked, and Alistair smiled, giving a soft sigh. Eideann glanced to Ella, teasing a knot from her wild curls, and nodded.

“That’s right,” she murmured. Cailan sank back into his seat, finally getting a chance to eat his own breakfast, and his silver gaze fell on Alistair’s gold.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “All of us need you here.” Alistair just smiled and nodded, and then lifted his cooling toast. 

“Apparently,” he said, and finished a bite.

***

He had forgotten how comfortable his bed really was. Being a Prince would not be nearly so bad if he was allowed to spend more nights on a mattress instead of holed up underground. He shuddered and banished the thoughts before it could develop into more, and then buried his head in his pillows and pulled his blankets high over his shoulders, sinking into the soft and the warmth.

In his head it was Eideann’s warmth and softness, and he smiled, focusing on that thought, and imagining she were there in his arms.

It must have been sometime in the mid-afternoon. He could hear people in the corridors, servants perhaps, and knew that somewhere Ella was running rampant through the halls, probably giggling into the silence because otherwise it would be too quiet. He smiled at the memory, then sighed, groaning and burying his pillow further in.

His ride had lasted through the night to reach Denerim that morning. He had finished his breakfast and then retired to his chambers for some much needed rest. 

He sighed.

“Pfft.” He blinked his eyes open, squinting, and glanced up a little, listening, trying to work out what the sound was and where it had come from. And then he heard it again. “Pfft.” He groaned and looked up to see brilliant blue eyes peering at him over the side of his bed. 

“Maker…Ella…how did you get in here?” He rolled over and covered his eyes with his arm, groaning. She climbed up to join him, pink skirts flying, and he caught her, cuddling her close.

“Uncle Alistair, wake up,” she whispered loudly in his face. He smirked, eyes still closed, and then turned to press a kiss against her temple. She still smelled faintly of honey. She squirmed against him, and he sighed, releasing her. She climbed onto his chest. “Uncle Alistair!” She hammered on his chest and he gave a cough, then finally sat up and she slipped into his lap, grinning up at him. Eideann’s rainy gaze met his, and he smiled, then kissed her nose. 

“Minx,” he said and then lifted her from his lap and set her on her feet beside the bed. “Go, pester your mother.” 

“She is with Papa,” Ella said. Alistair drew a deep breath, then nudged her back to make room and swung himself out of bed. She danced about his feet, reaching to catch his hand. “Come on, come on!” He caught her hand and pulled her back while he stomped on his boots and adjusted his tunic. Luckily for him he had fallen asleep in his clothes. 

Ella stood impatient, pulling on his hand, until he swept her up into his arms with a laugh.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “You’re more persistent than a genlock.” She giggled again and wrapped her arms about him.

“Uncle Alistair, do you love Mama?” He smiled as he carried her down the corridor.

“Of course.”

“And Papa?” He gave a soft chuckle.

“Of course,” he said again. “Do you?” She swatted at his arm before laying her head on his shoulder and reaching to touch his cheek.

“Yes,” she murmured, and he smiled, catching her hand with his.

“Good,” he told her kissing her hand, and then carefully setting her down. 

They found Eideann and Cailan in a meeting with Arl Eamon and a few of the councilors that helped the crown to run Ferelden. It seemed an unofficial sort of meeting, so Alistair let Ella run in and spoil the whole thing, and then stood in the door grinning as Cailan tried to control the miscreant as she squirmed up onto his knee. 

To see all three of them there, so happy, all of them laughing, though Cailan looked exasperated and Eideann tired, was like a blessing from the Maker himself. Alistair leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms, and watching the scene, always a bit of a bystander now, and smiled. And when Eideann looked up to see him there, and smiled for him as well, he gave a bow of head and she looked away, pressing her hand to her belly again.

Who knew for certain whose child it was, just like Ella. Once again, it did not matter. He’d be Uncle Alistair and Cailan would be Papa, and Eideann would be Mama and all would be as it was. He felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach and sighed. 

So be it then. After sleeping on the matter, he had come to a decision, considered all the outcomes and decided what he would do. He could stand a few more days waking to Ella bouncing onto his bed. He could stand a few more days having breakfast with all of them, though he made a point to remember that Ella was not allowed honey again. And he could stand a few more days sitting in that room with those councilors so that when she looked so exhausted and heavy with child, Eideann did not have to.

That was it really: they were his family. And he wanted to spend what time he could with them.

“When is this Convocation?” he asked, and the others noticed him standing there then. Cailan grinned, looking up, and gathering Ella into his arms as he rose.

“Soon,” he said quietly, beckoning for Alistair to join them. “Friends, you remember my brother, of course.” Alistair crossed to them, and gave a soldier’s bow, ignoring all the courtly nonsense for people who were not in the company of a pink-clad ball of energy. 

“Alistair,” Arl Eamon said, “it is good you have come.” Alistair took a seat as introductions were made, and then Cailan too reclaimed his seat, coaxing Ella to sit still on his knee.

They returned to business then, discussing politics, which mostly went over his head, or business which was also beyond him, and military strength, which he could make a few points on. But somewhere in the middle of it, he lost track of time, and it no longer mattered that he was not listening. Instead his gaze looked for Eideann’s cautious and quiet across the table, and in those rainy eyes the entire world lay, all the love that was still between them, all the gentle whispers and stolen moments. And he smiled a little to himself.

Yes, it was good to be home.

***

He woke beside Eideann, hand curled about her swollen belly over her own, and drew a deep breath to catch the scent of her. On the other side, Cailan lay, holding her other hand. It felt like it used to, and he was glad of it. But still he had to quietly rise, to slip out.

Eideann’s hand caught his.

“Where are you going?” she whispered, not even opening her eyes.

“Time for me to leave,’ he replied quietly, “before Ella thinks it’s time to wake up.” Eideann sighed, giving a soft smile, and brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. 

“I love you,” she said softly. He leaned forward and kissed her hair.

“And I you,” he told her quietly, then pulled away and rose to pull on his tunic and scruff a hand over his hair. He gathered the last of his things and then let himself out through the door.

Eideann was quite far along in her pregnancy, but the last few days she had been like a force of nature. She had dragged him to the court tailor and had him fitted for new clothes, and then to the armorer for something more ceremonial than Grey Warden silverite. In his chambers, he opened his wardrobe to find that the tailor had indeed finished some of the work, and he suddenly had a lot more to wear. That was a new experience for him, since he had worn a uniform since the age of ten when he first put on his Chantry soutane. 

He spent his time trying to work out what to wear and finally just had a wash and yanked on some dark leather leggings and a simple ivory shirt and then threw on a jerkin over the top. He had no idea if that looked a mess or what, but when he went for breakfast, one of the serving girls almost tripped over her feet for staring, so he was quite satisfied he was either dashingly handsome or making a total prat of himself. 

He found out which when Eideann gave him a coy little smile over her tea, and smiled inwardly at his achievement, because apparently at his age he should be proud he was able to finally dress himself. 

Eideann was helping Ella break open a soft boiled egg when there was a knock on the door. Arl Eamon entered, a runner at his back, and his expression was severe.

“Cailan,” he said in that tone of voice that meant _everything is falling apart, so come and do something about it._ Eideann looked up, smiles gone, eyes sharp as flint. Cailan beckoned Arl Eamon to come closer, and the Arl and the runner both crossed the carpeted floors. Ella reached out for Arl Eamon’s cloak, but Eideann caught her hands, hushing her into silence. “This arrived for you, from Lord Harimann of Kirkwall, and this from Empress Celene. We also have word from Bann Alfstanna in Waking Sea.” Cailan set down his fork and then reached for the papers that the runner held out, his look concerned. Eideann reached to take one from him, that bearing the ship and the waves of Waking Sea, her cousin’s marks.

“Orlesian ships are blockading the Waking Sea. Something is afoot in Jader,” she said darkly, eyes narrowed. Cailan, skimming the contents of Empress Celene’s letter. The golden sunburst seal was stark against the paper. 

“She’s begging an intervention. Her cousin the Duke of Verchiel has seized Jader in an attempt to foist Civil War.” 

“Duke Gaspard is not friend of Ferelden,” Eideann said quietly. “If he gets his way…”

“We’ll be at war,” Cailan finished quietly. 

“And Lord Harimann?” Cailan sighed, unfurling that notice as well, and grimaced.

“He asks that we remember he has always been a loyal ally to Ferelden, and requests we move immediately to stop Duke Gaspard,” he said. “He beseeches us on behalf of Grand Cleric Elthina and Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard of Kirkwall. I shall expect to see our own Grand Cleric soon.” He narrowed his eyes and then quietly pushed his chair back, rising and turning his back. He crossed one arm about him, using it to prop up the other as he traced the outline of his mouth in thought. “The last thing we need is to entangle ourselves in a foreign Civil War. But if he’s taken Jader, he is deliberately cutting off the lyrium trade.” 

“Was that his purpose?” Alistair asked, looking between all three.

“Perhaps? Or maybe he simply chose the farthest Orlesian city to seize in order to blockade Celene. Without access to the Free Marches, Ferelden, and the Waking Sea, she cannot hope to keep her nobles in line,” Cailan explained grimly. 

“But this will affect the dwarves as well,” Arl Eamon said quietly.

“And we are trying to encourage relations with the dwarves.” 

“We cannot break a blockade,” Eideann said sharply. “We do not have the ships to sink Orlesian cutters in their own waters. And we cannot risk open war. But if we do not secure the lyrium trade, the Chantry and the Circles both may grow unstable.” Alistair grimaced, glancing to his egg on his plate, and sighed. He had seen what lyrium withdrawal did to Templars, and he had seen what those Templars did to mages, and he did not want that to happen here. “He plays a dangerous game,” Eideann added.

“What can we do?” Alistair asked, and Cailan glanced to him, looking troubled, then sighed and let his hands drop to his sides. 

“Cailan, you will need to go.” Cailan looked sharply to Eideann.

“What? I can’t…you…” Eideann gave him a simple look.

“You must, my darling,” she told him quietly. “I will be fine. Alistair will stay with us and look after Ella.”

“A dignitary, a diplomat,” Cailan said. “Anyone else.” She shook her head a little sadly.

“No, love, you must go yourself and see this done. We need this to be dealt with quickly and firmly.” She glanced to Ella a moment, then nodded. “Take an entourage to Orzammar, and formalize an agreement to ship lyrium via Waking Sea. Alfstanna’s fleet is quicker than Orlesian cutters, and it can reach more ports faster. We can avoid the blockade itself without becoming entangled, and answer Lord Harimann’s plea as well.”

“And Celene?” Eideann’s gaze hardened a little.

“The Game kills those who cannot play it,” she said a little darkly. “She did not send aid during the Blight, and we will not send her aid now. Rerouting the lyrium shipping routes will deal a blow to Duke Gaspard’s power in the region, and with luck she can break his line once that is done. It is all we can do.”

“My egg, Mama,” Ella said, and Eideann sighed, returning back to cracking through the shell for her small child. 

“Whatever you choose, you must choose quickly, Cailan,” Eideann said softly, passing Ella back her spoon. “There is not much time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Find more Eideann [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3721120/chapters/8241325)!


	17. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan rides for Orzammar; Alistair gets a bit of experience of life at court; Eideann goes into labor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: labor/childbirth
> 
> Comments always welcome. 
> 
> Thanks again to Hopeless for the beta'ing. One more chapter left of the story. Don't forget to check out my other works! :) ~HR

Eideann stood with quiet eyes watching Cailan prepare his horse with his soldiers. She had sent Commander Bradach with him, and some of her best men, and told him to stay in Highever with Ser Gilmore when he reached there. He would be gone several weeks, for Orzammar was a fair distance from Denerim, even in good weather. Alistair stood beside her, waiting, Ella in his arms. And at last Cailan pulled from his steed and turned back to say his farewells. 

He kissed Ella’s head, and she reached for him, but he pulled away and left her in Alistair’s hands. He met his brother’s eyes a moment, then gave him a nod.

“Look after them, won’t you?”

“Eideann has always looked after us, remember?” Alistair smiled, but at Cailan’s look of consternation he nodded. “I will. You know I will.” Cailan nodded, and then looked to his wife. Eideann met his gaze and he leaned in to kiss her softly, brushing her cheek with gentle fingers.

“Be careful,” he told her quietly. “I shall be back as soon as I am able. Don’t push yourself.” She opened her mouth, but Cailan shook his head, giving her a wry look. “No, I _know_ you will.” He reached to cup her face in his hands and then gently placed a kiss on her mouth, then backed away and gave her a lite bow. “My Queen,” he murmured. 

“Be safe,” she told him, voice quiet and hard.

“Papa!” came Ella’s wail, and Cailan sighed and took his daughter’s reaching hand a moment.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, and then turned away, cloak billowing behind him. Alistair watched him a moment, while Ella screamed in his arms, and then he drew a deep breath and turned away.

“He’ll be back soon,” he told Ella, who twisted in his arms. “Come on, let’s go inside. Your mother looks tired.” He heard the horses ride off behind him and Ella gave a final wail before burying her head in his shoulder and sobbing into his tunic. Alistair sighed, and then glanced to Eideann, who looked like she had not slept properly in weeks. He pursed his lips, then turned his head back towards Ella. “Let’s go to the gardens, look at the flowers. Do you have a favorite flower? Don’t you think flowers are pretty? Let’s go pick your mother some flowers. Does that sound like a good idea?” Ella, sobbing, looked up, tears streaking her cheeks, and he wiped them away carefully. “Yes?” She gave a weak nod and he adjusted her in his arms to a better position. “Then come on then.” He reached then for Eideann, catching her hand a moment. “We will take your mother inside and then we will go to the gardens.” Eideann took his hand, walking carefully. He gave her a pointed look. “And while we are doing that, your mother can get some sleep.” Eideann smiled slightly and sighed. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, and he brought her hand to his lips briefly.

“You’re welcome, my Lady,” he told her. 

“I want Mama,” Ella said, twisting to look at them both. “I want Mama too.” Eideann leaned forward carefully, supporting her belly as she did so. 

“I will come outside in a while, Little Fire,” she told Ella softly. “I will have them bring us a picnic, shall I? What do you think?” Ella nodded, and then snuggled into Alistair again. Eideann settled back, sighing, and then took Alistair’s hand again as they made their way inside. 

Alistair walked her to the royal apartments, Ella still clinging to his neck. When he finally put Ella down, she yanked on his hand, trying to pull them along.

“Uncle Alistair, I want flowers!” He sighed, bade Eideann a quiet and restful sleep, and then allowed himself to be dragged off to the gardens.

And that was more or less how he ended up with daisy chains on his head.

“A crown, Uncle Alistair,” Ella had said after sitting in his lap long enough to watch him weave it together. He thanked her for the privilege of wearing such a beautiful crown, and she giggled and leaned to kiss his cheek. He had only known how to make them himself because some of the Lay Sisters at the Denerim Chantry had made a habit of weaving them for the girls when he was younger.

They were disturbed by Eideann and a pair of servants, along with Bann Teagan, who had Eideann’s arm and was helping her up the path. When Alistair saw them, he grinned, reaching to pull the daisy chain from his head, and Ella leaped up and went hurtling towards them to be intercepted by Teagan himself before she could knock into Eideann’s legs. 

The servants helped them with a small picnic as Teagan played a bit more with the endless energy that was Princess Ella. They stood together looking into the fountain, Ella pointing out fishes, while Alistair took a turn about the garden with Eideann. 

“Thank you for taking her for a while,” the Queen said with a smile. “Sometimes she is a bit much for me.”

“Nothing is a bit much for you. Besides, she is mine to care for as well,” Alistair said, carefully unweaving the daisy chain until he had one of the flowers in his hand. He held it out to her, and she smiled.

“I must hold court later. Teagan has told me he shall look after Ella. I wondered if, given the upcoming Convocation, you might wish to preside with me?” Alistair mused over it a moment with a smirk.

“Am I allowed to call people names, throw tantrums, be upset?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Like my daughter?” Eideann laughed softly, glancing back and watching Ella lead Teagan in a merry chase across the lawns. Alistair looked back then smiled, and Eideann shook her head. “If you do not wish – ?” 

“Eideann, I will go. You want me to go. So I will.” She gave a small laugh again and then turned back, taking his arm to return to their picnic. 

He found a bit of happiness, even in the tedious business of presiding over court with Eideann, in those days. It was nice not to be dealing with darkspawn or the Blight, and since Duncan had given his sanction, he had dedicated himself entirely to dealing with his buoyant niece and her beautiful mother. He did on occasion think he should have gone with Cailan to Orzammar – after all, he had far more experience in the dwarven capital than Cailan did as a Grey Warden. That said he was glad that he was there, especially when he caught sight of Eideann when she thought no one was paying attention, and she looked weary and tired and sore.

Sometimes he crept into her bed to sleep with her in his arms. At other times he bundled Ella up in his own chambers where she could not harass Eideann in the middle of the night. Teagan was a great help as well, because it apparently took half the court to handle Ella. He had no idea how difficult it would be to handle two of them. 

Alistair was eager for Cailan’s return as well, since in his absence most people were looking to Eideann for guidance, and she was too weary for such things regardless of the brave face she put on. Alistair himself was little help in political matters, which meant when decisions were left to him, it was about as helpful as asking a small child on the streets of the city what to do about this, that, or the other. His answers were about as coherent. Some things were obvious, but land disputes or claims brought for justice were something that required a bit more subtlety than he currently possessed. Teagan assured him it was a gift learned, but the way Eideann navigated the political waters made him assume that perhaps Teagan was lying a little about that.

She sat on a chair set out at the foot of the dais when she held court, which was not necessarily proprietary but absolutely a relief for Alistair because watching her meander the halls looking twice as heavy as she should have been made his own back and feet hurt. For all she was weary, she looked resplendent, every inch a Queen. Her gown was golden taffeta, with an overlay of thick crushed jade velvet with gold embroidery. She was wearing a crown of gold and amber, and a pendant of gold and emeralds. He had asked her once if she missed her armor and the simple tunics she used to wear, and she smiled and her eyes had sparkled as she said, “Do not misunderstand, my love, I always dress for war. Some wars require leathers and plate, and others require we glitter and shine, usually brighter than anyone in the room.” And certainly she had mastered that skill, because in those moments when she was hearing grievances and presiding over the nobility of Ferelden with all the political acumen of an Orlesian. 

She sat, hands in her lap around her swollen belly, listening as Bann Bronach and Bann Bryton brought forward a land dispute in the eastern Bannorn for her to hear. Bronach claimed Bryton had stolen fifteen of his freeholders, and Bryton claimed Bronach had seized two of his fortresses. And the issue was apparently still a heated one. Bronach was shaking throughout his testimony, and Bryton got so angry he began to shout, his voice echoing into the eaves. Alistair took a wary step forward, hand on Maric’s sword at his side, when Bann Bryton drew too close. 

“Your Majesty _must_ understand the sheer insult that has been done to my family here!” Bann Bryton was saying. Eideann raised an eyebrow as the man stepped forward again. “This…this _knave_ has slandered my family, _stolen_ my properties, and now, _now_ he calls me a thief because his own Freeholders have abandoned him! This is entirely - !” 

“Step back,” Alistair said, hand on his sword, putting himself a step before Eideann, and Bann Bryton stared at him, as if his own behavior had surprised even him. His gaze slid to Eideann, who bowed her head a little and looked up at him with a quiet warning in her eyes.

“Alistair…” she said quietly, and he stepped away, giving a short bow to her as he did so. She straightened, and considered the Banns before her. “Now, my Lords, we shall deal with this civilly.” She beckoned Bann Bryton to take a step back with the back of her fingers, and he did so with a sweeping bow.

“Your Majesty, I beg your pardon,” he murmured, and Eideann sighed.

“You have it, Bann Bryton,” she told him simply. “Now, gentlemen, if I may? The lands and properties of Banns are bestowed upon them by the freeholders, who choose their allegiances as they will. When they make that choice, and those choices may be fluid, the lands attributed to those freeholders remain the property of those freeholders, and not the Banns at all.” She looked to Bann Bryton with her stormy gaze. “That means the fortresses cannot be stolen if the freeholders on that land have pledged to Bann Brodach,” Her eyes slipped to Bann Brodach, “and Bann Bryton cannot _steal_ your freeholders. Your problems, gentlemen come from those beneath you, not from each other.” She sighed. “Go, see to your Lords, and win them over if you will, but do not come here pleading my intervention when you must both win the loyalty of those beneath you. I cannot force men to pledge to you, just as I cannot force you to respect me as Queen. You will do as you will. This is Ferelden, gentlemen, not Orlais. All men here have choice.” She sighed and considered them both. “Unless you would have my raise an army and ride out to teach them all a lesson, my Lords?” 

“No, Your Majesty!” Bann Brodach insisted.

“My Lady!” Bann Bryton said. She smiled at them both merrily.

“Well then,” she said. “I think that’s rather enough, don’t you?” They both of them bowed again, deeply, and turned away, and Eideann sighed. “No more,” she said, smile slipping. “No more today.” She glanced to Alistair and he nodded, and then she waved for the guards and the councilor there with them to deal with the rest while she carefully rose from her seat. The other occupants of the chamber all bowed for her as she did so, and she nodded, then swept past back towards the back of the palace, Alistair in tow. 

“Honestly,” she said as they rounded the corner, her voice quiet so it did not carry back, “sometimes they’re just making work for people.” She smiled to him and he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it’s because they love you and want to see you more?” he asked with a smirk, and she shook her head. 

And then she stopped, smile slipping, and grimaced. She had to put out an arm to catch herself against the wall as she bent over a little, giving a sharp gasp. Alistair panicked.

“Eideann?!” She put up an arm to him, which he caught, arm wrapping about her back.

“Get…get me to my rooms…” she told him, half hunched over a little. He nodded, watching her with wide eyes, as they inched down the corridor. He kicked the doors ajar as they entered, calling for some of the servants. “A midwife, Alistair…I think it’s coming,” Eideann told him fiercely, and he nodded, helping her up onto the bed as a pair of maids came hurrying into the room. 

They proved more adept at all this than he, because he mostly stood in the way. 

He heard wailing down the hall and saw Teagan at the door, reaching for Ella who came charging past him.

“Mama!” Alistair turned, and missed grabbing her too, and Eideann shook her head.

“No, Ella, go with Bann Teagan.” Ella, face scrunched up with tears reached for Eideann over the edge of the bed. “Ella!” Eideann hunched over, giving a sharp cry, and then looked up panting to Alistair. “Alistair, get her…” He swept Ella into his arms then, and she kicked and screamed as he carried her out. Teagan gave him a concerned look. 

“Did you want to stay?” he asked him quietly, and Alistair hesitated. Teagan nodded. “Stay as long as you want. I’ll take the Princess.” He reached to take Ella, who was still screaming and crying, and then briskly paced from the room, shutting the door behind him. Alistair swallowed hard, then looked back, unsure what he was meant to do. The servants just bustled about him, someone calling for hot water, someone carrying fresh linens, and Alistair grimaced before one of them nudged him back towards the room. 

“Well,” the servant said in a sharp voice. “Go on or get out!” So he made up his mind. He could face down ogres in the deep. He had stood against the Archdemon. This was not going to put him off. He was more worried about just being in the way.

“Go there,” the midwife instructed, motioning to a chair out of the way near Eideann’s side. Eideann gave him a pained look, shaking her head. He chewed at his lip a little before sinking down beside her, and she reached to take his hand tightly in hers.

“Ella?” she asked, and he met her eyes.

“Teagan has her.” Eideann nodded, gritting her teeth and sitting up a little, grimacing. Alistair just let her squeeze his hand.

He really did not know what he was meant to expect. No one had gone through the details with him of how exactly birth went. Was it happening now? Or were they waiting? How long would it be? How long was it usually? Was Eideann doing alright, or was something the matter? Was it too soon? Too late? Maker’s breath, he was scared. 

His mother had died giving birth to him. 

He hung his head, drawing a shaking breath, feeling Eideann’s nails digging into his hand as she gave a sharp cry of pain and then hissed in a breath again, laying back against the pillows with her eyes closed tightly. Every so often she would grip his hand again and grimace. He sat with her for hours, it seemed, until she was breathing heavily and every few moments she would squeeze his hand again. The midwife was about her duty, until at last Eideann gave a low groan and looked to him, and he wanted to help, wanted to make it end. He carefully stroked her hair back. 

“You’re alright,” he murmured to her, uncertain what he should be saying. And he was scared. He had seen this woman stand against darkspawn and not flinch. But she looked scared now.

“I can’t…” she gasped, tears in the corner of her eyes. “I have to...” The midwife looked up. 

“Now, Your Majesty. Push.” Eideann sat up a little, crying out and then panting. Alistair grimaced, tightening his grip on her hand.

“I’m here, Eideann,” he said, ignoring the strange look one of the servants gave him. Her body was shaking as she pushed again, and then her chest was sobbing as her tears spilled out.

“Don’t stop,” the midwife called, and Eideann let out a string of curses so foulmouthed Alistair himself was shocked. He bent over her, and she pushed again.

“I want it out!” she spat. “Maker, take it! I want it out!” The midwife made a soothing noise and Alistair stared, wide eyed. And then Eideann screamed, and then again, and he grimaced, and the midwife smiled.

“There it is…precious thing. Almost there!” Eideann was sobbing as she bore down again, and then in the next moment she was dropping back against the pillows, eyes shut tight, and a fierce crying filled the room. The midwife carefully gathered the wailing child in her arms, and smiled.

“A boy, Your Majesty,” she said in a thick voice. Alistair stared as the servants bustled about the help. Eideann gave a soft groan, and then opened her eyes looking for her son, releasing Alistair’s hand. He flexed it a little, feeling it cramped and sore, and sighed. The midwife bundled the babe up in one of the blankets and then held him for Eideann who settled the babe against her chest, peering down on him with tears in her eyes. 

“Keegan,” she breathed, gently touching the babe’s face. And then her eyes slipped to Alistair, weary and drawn. She looked as pale as a sheet. 

“There now…” The midwife said a little later, looking up to them both. One of the servants drew back, blood-soaked bedding in her arms, and hurried off. Alistair stared after her a moment, bewildered, and then glanced back to Eideann who held out a hand for him. 

The servants were still busy dealing with the aftermath, but Eideann ignored them all, cradling Keegan in her arms, tears in her eyes. And then she looked to Alistair.

“Take him?” she said quietly. “Hold him?” Alistair blinked, then wet his lips before carefully reaching for the babe. Eideann relinquished him with a soft and weary sigh, and then settled back into the pillows as Alistair rocked the little boy. Rainy Cousland eyes gazed up at him, big and damp with tears, from his arms, and he breathed a sigh, folding the blankets delicately over his arms. When he looked back to Eideann, she was watching him through half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll leave you to rest, Your Majesty,” the midwife said quietly, and Eideann nodded. Alistair thanked the woman.

And then it was just the three of them. Eideann closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

“He’s yours,” she said quietly when she was certainly they were alone. Alistair blinked, then looked to her, and then swallowed. 

“Mine?” She just smiled a little and nodded. 

“Yes.” And then she settled her hand across her body and swallowed. “I wish Cailan had been here as well.” Alistair smiled, nodding, and then looked back to the baby a moment, who was maybe asleep in his arms. And then he looked back and Eideann was quietly drifting off too. He bent to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Well done, my love,” he murmured, and a slight smile touched her lips. He sank back into a seat in the chair by the bed, his son in his arms, and sighed, considering the woman before him, the mother of his son and daughter. And his heart glowed warm like embers in his chest.

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world._


	18. Touch Me With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan returns home; Alistair's investiture takes place; our threesome has some final moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: sex; incest (this story's sort)
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read this, and thanks to my Dances readers for waiting on updates of that fic as my attention is now fully on that story again. Thanks to Hopeless for beta'ing most of the chapters, and the TMB challenge group for really wanting this story and listening to my discussing it literally all the time. ;) 
> 
> ENJOY! <3 ~HR
> 
> [ Don't forget to find more of my writing, and more Eideann, over at Dances in Darkness located here :)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3721120/chapters/8241325)

Cailan reined in his stallion and then slipped from his saddle the moment it drew up short, his boots hitting the flagstones hard. He gathered his cloak around him and swept across the courtyard, trusting a groom to catch his horse. With both hands he threw open the palace doors before anyone could do it for him, his eyes bright and fierce.

“Where is she?” he barked at the nearest servant, who threw a deep bow.

“The royal chambers, Your Majesty,” the servant said quickly, giving him a nervous look. Cailan did not even say his farewells or thanks. He swept across the Landsmeet floor and took the door into the chambers beyond. He did not run. That would not do. 

Word had reached him not long after he had reached Highever on his return trip, and he had ridden hard and fast to get there. 

_Her Majesty has delivered of a healthy son._

He was more worried about her. Ella’s birth had been difficult, and Eideann was abed for a week afterward, wracked with childbed fever and drained of all her normal life. He had stood, helpless, his beautiful new daughter in his arms, and watched, and waited, and prayed to the Maker not to take her from him. About them, the physicians had tired well into the night for a week with infusions of willow bark and yarrow, and the whole room smelled of peppermint tea. He had almost lost her then.

He rounded the last corner, catching himself on the doorframe with the flat of his hand, and his eyes fell on Alistair, bundled under a blanket with Ella before the fireplace, both of them fast asleep. Ella was atop Alistair’s chest, and he had one hand wrapped about her so she would not fall, but the other was holding a book open where it hung over the edge of the chair, like he had fallen asleep mid-story. Cailan stared a moment, and as he did so, Alistair stirred a little, blinking his amber eyes open. Those eyes fell on Cailan’s and he briefly paused to work out where he was, then smiled.

“She’s safe. They both are. Eideann and Keegan.” He glanced down to Ella who was snoring away on his chest, and grinned. “And Trouble here too.” Ella drew a long breath and then snuggled into him further, so Alistair motioned with his eyes towards the bedchamber. “They’re in there,” he said softly.

Eideann was sitting half covered in blankets when he reached the doorway and looked inside. She glanced up to him, babe in her arms, and he felt something settle inside him, all his tension easing. He gave a soft chuckle and smiled, leaning in the doorway a moment.

“Ah, my love,” he breathed and she smiled, rainy gaze sparkling as she met his. 

“Cailan. I’ve missed you.” She put out a hand for him, and he pushed away from the door, crossing to catch it in his own and press a kiss against the top of her fingers before joining her on the bed, one leg tucked beneath him. And then he looked down at the babe, bundled in her arms, who gazed back with rainy blue eyes. 

“Keegan,” he breathed, and Eideann glanced to him with a smile.

“Will you hold him?” she asked, and he nodded, gently taking the child from her arms. 

“He came early then,” Cailan shook his head. “Impatient little one. I am sorry I was away.” Eideann shook her head as he settled Keegan into his arms like he had done with Ella not too long ago, and then glanced back to her. 

“No, you were about important business. We managed well enough alone.” His smiled slipped a little and he met her gaze, feeling a flicker of fear.

“I was frightened for you,” he said softly. “After what happened last time…” She simply nodded, and then reached to take her baby back. 

“I was scared myself, but Alistair stayed with me.” Cailan smiled again.

“I knew he would,” he said in a soft voice that betrayed all the love he had for them both, for all his growing family.

“Is your business done?” Eideann asked him as Keegan’s tiny fingers curled about a single one of her own. Cailan watched it happen, then nodded.

“For the moment, at least. If the Grand Duke does not relinquish his hold soon, we may need a stronger military presence along the border, but for the time being we have averted any significant problems.” He looked to her again. “I want Alistair to accompany me the next time I travel to Orzammar. They know him there and would be more comfortable in the presence of a Grey Warden Prince, and with his connection to the Chantry when he was training to be a Templar – “

“I know,” she said gently, turning her head to catch his cheek in a gentle kiss. “I have missed you, Cailan.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“And I have missed you.” He caught her lips with his own, a tender, gentle kiss.

“Papa!” He pulled back tipping his head back a moment with a small grin at being so abruptly disturbed and then glanced to the door where Ella came dashing towards him. Alistair had taken up his position leaning in the doorframe watching them with a small knowing smile. Cailan bent to catch his daughter and pulled her up onto his bed.

“Have you been good while I was gone?” he asked her fiercely and she grinned and nodded.

“Yes!” she declared. 

“Good.” He sat her on his knee and she twisted to peer down at Keegan. “Mama says Ke’an is my brother.” Cailan nodded and brushed his fingers through her rampant curls. 

“Yes. He is,” he told her, but his gaze had slipped back up to Alistair. Ella followed his gaze, her own smile slipping, and she looked between the two men anxiously. “Is Uncle Alistair going to stay?” she asked. Alistair glanced to her, then up to Cailan, who fixed him with a look asking the same question.

“Yes,” Alistair finally said. “I’m staying, Ella, I promise. This time for good. Someone has to help your mother and father rule a kingdom.” He smiled ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching, and then crossed his arms. “I was thinking I might be a real prince. What do you think about that?” 

“Prince Uncle Alistair?!” Ella said with excitement, leaping from Cailan’s arms and crawling across the bed. She almost toppled off the end before Alistair stepped forward to catch her and swing her up into his arms. 

“Yes. Prince Uncle Alistair. Come on, let’s go find out what we are having for dinner.” He gave her a silly grin, then winked back at Cailan and Eideann, before sweeping Ella off down the hall. Cailan gave a soft laugh and Eideann smiled, shaking her head.

“He knows just how to handle her.”

“They’re both as much a handful as each other,” Cailan replied, then turned to catch Eideann in a soft, deep kiss again, careful of her arms holding Keegan. “Ah, my beautiful Queen,” he said, pulling back and placing a final kiss on her forehead. “I am so glad to see you both safe.” He reached to kick off his boots and let his cloak drop to the ground behind him so he could join her properly on the bed. She leaned her head into him a little, nestling it against his collarbone, and he bent to kiss her forehead again, stroking her golden hair down. “I love you,” he told her softly, “all of you.” And she smiled, closing her eyes.

“I know,” she told him quietly. “And we, all of us, love you.”

***

He had never felt so foolish in all his life. He stood, armor sparkling silverite and gold, with a heavy velvet cloak at his back in rich crimson. It was like Cailan’s, except that instead of bearing the full Theirin crest of the red mabari on a field of white and gold, it was only half. The other half of the crest at his back was the silver griffon of the Grey Wardens on blue. Both were joined together for him, and the cloak was trimmed in silver instead of Theirin gold. Eideann had made sure all the pieces were perfect.

He was glad that she had gone to such lengths, even if he was not entirely enamoured with the process of the Convocation itself. He did not want to give up the part of him that was a Grey Warden. That was a duty that could not be forsworn. And she knew as much, had done as much to make sure it would never be forgotten. He may be taking on the formal title of Prince Alistair Theirin, but in his heart he was still just Warden Alistair, and that identity was important to him too.

He had not seen any of them all morning, not even the vivacious Ella who was usually rampaging the halls like a horde of darkspawn herself, and now it was mid-afternoon. It was strangely quiet as he dressed, his fingers messing with the straps of his gauntlets as he tried to make himself presentable. At last he stood before the mirror in his chambers – his chambers, not guest rooms, and just across the hall from the royal wing itself – and considered his reflection.

His mother’s eyes stared back at him, whoever it was she had been. But his father’s face stood there, touched with a little bit of laughter, worn with a lot of responsibility. He ran a hand over his hair to smooth it forward, grimacing, then sighed.

This was for their benefit, not his, Cailan and Eideann’s, Ella’s and Keegan’s. His family. He drew a deep breath.

A soft knock came at the door, and the glanced up as Bann Teagan peered within, eyes sparkling a little as he caught sight of him all dressed up.

“Clean up nicely, considering you used to run around in the mud at Redcliffe,” he grinned, letting himself in.

“I’d rather be covered in mud, believe me,” Alistair muttered, considering him, resting his hand on the hilt of Maric’s sword at his hip and letting his eyes scan Teagan’s silks and satins and lordly jewels. He felt like this was an entirely different world.

_Some wars require leathers and plate, and others require we glitter and shine,_ Eideann’s words crept unbidden into his head and he nodded to himself.

“Are you ready?” Teagan asked. “The Bannorn is assembled. They are all waiting on you.” Alistair grimaced, then looked up.

“Do _you_ think this is a wise move?” he asked and Teagan grinned.

“I always have,” he replied. “You’re gentle-hearted and kind, a good man. You always were. And you know what it’s like to live outside a palace, and to fight to defend those who need protection. You’re everything a prince should be, Alistair. And everyone out there already knows it.”

“I’m just the bastard,” Alistair said quietly, meeting his own eyes in his mirror. Teagan gave a soft laugh.

“So?” he asked, earning a look of astonishment from Alistair in the reflection. “When has that stopped you? Never, that’s when. And it never stopped your father either.” Alistair blinked, staring, and then turned about to fix Teagan with a dark gaze.

“My father…”

“Yes. So get out there and give Ferelden all the bastards it deserves,” Teagan grinned, and Alistair drew a breath before nodding.

His heart was pounding as they walked the silent halls. Even the servants were missing. He felt like he were walking to his death, to a pyre or an executioner’s block, rather than a ceremony in his honor. He could hear his blood in his ears, taste bile at his nervousness, but he did not stop.

_You’ve faced down an archdemon,_ he told himself, because a Landsmeet could not be worse. 

And then Teagan gave him a small bow and slipped away to join the crowds, leaving him very much alone.

He heard horns announcing him, a crier call out his name, and then the doors opened wide to admit him into the chamber.

He almost froze right there.

But somehow his feet crossed the flagstones to the rich blue carpets that ran the length of the hall. On either side the nobles gathered, watching him, and he walked among them, trying his best to seem like he belonged there. 

He looked up, atop the dais where Cailan stood in full regalia, the crown of the king upon his head. And beside him was Eideann, clad in blue and silver silks, Keegan in her arms. The boy was growing quickly, already a month old now. How quickly time went by. He was bigger than when Alistair had sat by Eideann’s bedside, holding his child in awe.

His son. The Prince. 

His eyes fell on Ella, in cloth of gold, a tiara of silver wound into her curls, and he smiled. He could not help himself. Maker take whatever rule said no one could smile at court, or whatever. Probably such a rule did not even exist. She took a step forward, but he shook his head lightly, so she stayed where she was, grinning.

His daughter. The Princess.

Alistair smiled, and his eyes softened as he met Eideann’s. She too was smiling, eyes shining with the light of love and trust and desire. And she looked every inch a queen. He wanted her. He felt the fires grow inside him, set alight by her gaze, and let the flush of warmth run through him. 

_Later…later…_

He turned his eyes back to Cailan and climbed the last of the stairs before sinking to his knees before the King of Ferelden. Cailan looked back at him with a face that was familiar yet different. His brother. 

Alistair felt their eyes meet, felt everything that lay between them, all they knew that was different, and all they knew that they shared, and Cailan’s mouth twitched a little in a smile.

“Brother,” he said softly in greeting.

“Brother,” Alistair confirmed. And then Cailan turned, ceremonial armor glistening gold, and crimson robes brushing the carpets. He reached for a servant who held aloft a cushion, and from the cushion took a simple iron band set with amber stones. And he held it forward.

“From this day forth, let all those here today bear witness, to the investiture of Prince Alistair Theirin, son of King Maric Theirin, of Ferelden.” He set it down carefully then across Alistair’s brow, a simple crown – Maric’s own, forged in war during the rebellion, worn by the Rebel Queen Moira herself, now fitted for him. Alistair swallowed, shaking a little under the metaphorical weight of that crown, and then looked up to Cailan, who gave a smile of encouragement. 

“I,” Alistair said as loudly and clearly as he could, “Alistair Theirin, Prince of Ferelden, do hereby swear myself into the service of the Crown of Ferelden until such a time as my duty is done and I am released from my oaths.” Cailan took both his hands and helped him rise then, stepping back, and Alistair turned. 

And the entire room cheered. He felt his heart nearly stop at the sight, but Ella saved him, reaching up for his hand. And no one moved to stop them. She gave his fingers a tight squeeze, and he glanced to her, that mad grin of hers filling him with delight, and then he bent to sweep her up into his arms. 

“My Princess,” he said and Ella laughed amid the cheers and applause. 

“Prince Uncle Alistair,” she said in reply.

After that was mostly a blur. Cailan clapped him on the shoulder, and Eideann kissed his cheek softly. The warmth of her made his heart race, and when she pulled back there was a promise in her eyes.

_Soon,_ it said. And he felt the same thing he had all those years ago, bodies pressed close behind the curtain of Cailan’s tent before she pressed her first kiss to his lips on the fields of the Highever Tourney: touched with fire. 

He took the steps with Cailan then, Ella still in his arms, and met the lords formally, introduced by the King himself. And Duncan was there, in Warden-Commander silk, smirking as he greeted him.

It went like a blur, all noise and chaos, despite all the pomp and circumstance that kept it organized. And when at last it was done, there was another celebration, a reception where half the noble ladies flirted with him and half the noble men tried to get him to duel in a hopes to impress him. They need not have bothered. The attention was maddening, and difficult for him to wrap his head around, after so many years of just being ignored. 

It was Eideann at last who saved him, servants having taken Keegan and Ella off to bed. She caught his arm in hers, stole him away from a small group of noblewomen who were admiring his physique, and led him up to where Cailan was waiting near the edge of the hall. 

He did not remember how they slipped away. It was Eideann who did it, somehow, and no one seemed to notice they were gone. Cailan followed after them, excusing himself for the evening, and suddenly there they were, all three of them, alone again at last. 

And Alistair felt that rush of heat again as they walked down the corridors towards the royal wing. 

Eideann’s fingers were like fire on his arm, points of heat that made him focus only on her, on them, that small little world. She was his Queen, the mother of his children, and Cailan was there, a look on his face that said he knew everything that burned inside Alistair just from a single glance. 

In the chambers, Alistair hit a wall, suddenly drawing up short, remembering that it had not been so long since Eideann’s child had been born. Perhaps they should wait. Perhaps it was not yet time.

She quelled those thoughts with a kiss like fire, turning to him desperately as Cailan shut the door behind her, mouth on his stealing his breath away as she worked at the straps of his armor. 

And Cailan was pulling at his armor too, letting it fall to the floor in a heap, breathless and fierce and determined. Eideann’s fingers slipped over the silk of Alistair’s royal tunic before shedding that as well, tossing it aside to let it lie across the chairs, and then she went, sinking to her knees before him, and pulled free the laces of his trousers. He was liberated, and then her mouth closed about him, all fire and warmth, and Alistair moaned, feeling like any moment he would turn to ash and die. 

Cailan let his own cloak drop, working at his gauntlets and leaning his forehead on Alistair’s shoulder as he pulled at the straps. Alistair’s hands crept up to help, mostly uselessly given his distraction. Eideann’s mouth stole all his sense. He arched, desperate, and Cailan’s armor clattered to the floor. And then he felt Cailan’s hands on his face, the King’s mouth hot against his neck, and he moaned, shaking a little. 

“Maker…” he breathed, and Cailan smirked.

“Bed,” was the reply.

He felt Eideann pull away, and gave a soft groan. He watched as she reached back to loosen her gown before letting it slip to the floor at her ankles. Her jewels she kept, and they sparkled in the light. She smiled at him, a sultry little smile that spoke of plans, and then she took his hands and walked him forward towards the bedchamber. His back hit the blankets as she pushed him down, climbing atop him and kissing him hard, and his hands crept over her, every inch, until at long last she arched back, and then sank down onto him. And the pair of them moaned together, deep and intense. 

And then Cailan’s arms were on his wife, and he too kissed her, and she began to move.

How long had they waited, all of them? How long had it been since last they had been there together?

Eideann’s heat was almost too much for him, leaving him panting and crying out, until he could not bear it any longer. He pulled her back to him, rolling her over so he was atop her, and then drove into her, catching her mouth with his, until he was slick with sweat and the effort of it, and he came hard. She lay there, laughing softly in his arms.

“Alistair…” she called softly, laughter in her voice, and he turned his head. “Don’t forget Cailan.” Alistair grinned, then sighed, shifting slightly.

“Oh, I won’t.” He looked up to Cailan who was watching them both with quiet eyes, stroking himself with his hand. And then Alistair smirked and pulled back from Eideann, instead reaching to wrap an arm about Cailan’s neck. He pulled him forward, until their mouths met in a kiss. He tasted like sweet wine and joy. Cailan stared, surprised, then grinned, and leaned back, shaking his head before hauling Alistair over and pinning him down into the pillows for a second kiss. Alistair gave a breathless laugh, shoving him off. Cailan smirked before sitting back. Eideann’s arms crept about Cailan’s shoulders then, and she kissed at his neck before wrapping her legs about him. She settled herself in his lap with a soft gasp as he filled her.

Cailan’s eyes were shining with need and lust and love, and he panting, going slow and careful now with her, a stark contrast to his playful fight with Alistair. Alistair sat up, tracing his fingers up Eideann’s spine before crawling further up the bed to watch them move against one another. He threw his arms behind his head, damn his lack of clothes, and drank the sight of them in. Eideann’s back was arched as she moved, her head tipped back. And Cailan kissed at her neck and shoulders and lips, hair tumbling astray about them both. And the sounds were like music in his soul, striking a chord that reverberated through him and made him catch alight again.

And then finally Cailan too came, dropping Eideann down onto her back and kissing her deeply as he spent himself within her. And then he gathered her into his arms, rolling clear of her, and pulled Alistair’s arm from behind his head to twine their fingers together.

“What do you think?” he said with a breathless laugh. “Was it worth it?” Eideann smiled and Alistair felt her settle into the space between them, her rainy eyes considering them both, the Silver Prince, and the Gold, though which was which, he could not tell. 

“I think I’ve missed you, both of you,” she said in a quiet voice. “And I would never have it any other way.” She reached to catch Alistair’s other hand, until all three lay holding hands in a circle. “My Champion,” she said, glancing to him, “and my King,” her eyes slipped to Cailan. And then she closed them both with a laugh. “My Theirin Princes.” Cailan grinned, kissing her hand, and then nuzzling into her shoulder.

“My wife,” he breathed, earning a smile. Alistair just gave Eideann’s hand a squeeze and settled back into the pillows.

“My brother, my lover, and the mother of our children,” he said with a laugh, but it was fond. And his heart was singing with joy and peace. “I say it now, in case I do not get the chance again: Cousland Queens will always have _my_ favor.” 

And Eideann just laughed, the clear sort of laugh that had won him over so many years ago. He smiled and closed his eyes to the sound, listening to it ringing pure and true. And he let the warmth spread through him, burning him to nothing but a heated puddle inside. His whole mind was eclipsed with her. Eyes like rain and a will like fire.

He opened a single eye and caught Cailan watching him with a simple look of understanding, and then as one, like it were right and just meant to be, they both spoke, the words spilling from them together, soft and sweet and true: “Eideann, I love you.” 

And she replied, her voice light and gentle, full to bursting with all the joy in her heart: 

“I know. And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **END SILVER & GOLD**


End file.
